Kid Gloves
by Sting4052
Summary: Inspired by the mysterious promo featuring an injured Andy, this is my take on what we might see starting in November. Do you like action, intrigue and some sexy romance? If you said yes, this story is for you. How did Andy get hurt? Will he decide to retire? Will Sharon be there for him no matter what? Find out the answers to these questions and a lot more.
1. More to Life

I tried to tell Sharon, at the time, that I had a weird feeling about the strange man I encountered in the lobby of her building. I don't know what it was, but he immediately caught my eye. He was approaching the elevator as I entered the building, and something about the way he moved seemed off to me. He didn't notice me until I stood beside him to wait on the elevator. I said hello and he glanced at me, but didn't speak. Several people got off the elevator when it reached the ground floor. I walked into the elevator and turned around just in time to watch him walk away. Before the doors closed, I noticed he had a slight limp in his right leg. He didn't get on the elevator with me; although, I was sure that was his intention.

Thoughts of the weird guy vanished from my mind when Sharon opened her door to let me in. All I could think about was how beautiful she looked. Wearing jeans and just a simple cotton t-shirt she was barefoot with her hair falling in waves around her shoulders. As soon as she closed the door and turned around, I leaned into her and caught her silky lips with mine. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, and I could taste the creamy, buttery, white wine she'd been drinking. Her essence filled my senses. She was intoxicating.

We had made plans to go out to dinner; however, she surprised me with a casual evening sitting at her dining room table, just the two of us, with the lights dimmed and a few candles burning. We ate homemade fettuccine Alfredo with soft music playing. It was romantic, and she seemed carefree and happy until I almost ruined the mood by telling her about my encounter with the strange man in her lobby. I was curious if she had seen him in the building before. I described his blonde hair, thick glasses, heavy build and slight limp. Shrugging her shoulders, she shook her head no and changed the subject. Her mood was light and flirty. She wanted to talk about us taking a trip to Napa Valley over a three-day weekend. I could understand her desire to just relax. I knew she tried hard not to constantly look over her shoulder, or peer into the shadows to see if Phillip Stroh was lurking. He was never actually there, but he might as well have been. His specter still loomed large in all our minds.

We moved to the couch after dinner. I tried, one more time, to tell her of my concern about the man with the limp. She nestled into my side and began to run her fingers through my hair. At that point, I was much more interested in kissing than talking.

That night seems like a dream now. So much has happened. My mind keeps repeating the sequence of events leading to my current situation. If only I'd been stronger, faster, more nimble; I wouldn't be sitting here banged up and thinking about cashing in all my chips. This certainly isn't the first time I've been injured in the line of duty, but this feels different somehow. It feels like maybe now is the perfect time to call it quits. I'm just not sure. I wouldn't miss the crazy hours, but I would miss the people I work with … even Provenza. When I decided to join the force, I never envisioned how my career would end. In the beginning, I was basically just an overgrown kid with a badge and a gun. I had big dreams to make the streets safer. It didn't take me long to realize my efforts were like a tiny drop of water barely creating a ripple in the huge cesspool of humanity.

And don't even get me started on the political BS associated with this job. I've seen too many good people, like Sharon, passed over for promotion in favor of the ass-kissers and BS artists that seem to abound within the LAPD. It's a game I stopped playing a long time ago. I certainly won't miss that if I decide to retire.

Still, a lot of the work has been rewarding. Solving crimes and putting murderers, rapists, and other criminals behind bars is very satisfying if not financially lucrative. I've earned a decent pension though, so I'm not too worried about starving to death. I'm more worried about being bored to death. How would I fill up the hours? I don't want to be one of those old guys who just sit around talking about the good ole days while their guts get bigger and bigger. No, there has to be more to life than that. At least I don't have to decide anything right this minute.


	2. The Beginning

The night air is charged with electricity; thunder rolls in the distance. Sharon can hear it as she walks to the hospital parking lot followed closely by a detective from the LAPD's Robbery-Homicide Division. She gets in her car alone, and drives to the entrance of the hospital where Andy sits waiting for her in a wheelchair. The robbery-homicide detective pulls up behind her car, and waits while Sharon helps Andy into her vehicle. Both cars drive away from the hospital; at 1:00 a.m. there aren't many cars on the road, so it doesn't take long for Sharon to drive Andy home. Rain starts to fall as Sharon pulls into his driveway. The detective parks near Andy's house, but doesn't leave the car. He'll spend what's left of the night in covert surveillance of the residence.

Sharon helps Andy out of the car, and into the house through the back door. As soon as he's settled on the couch, she walks back to the kitchen to double-check that the back door is locked. She does the same with the front door.

"Are you going to check the windows too?" asks Andy.

"Should I?"

"No, I know they're locked. Sharon, honey please calm down. We're perfectly safe."

She sits next to him, and pulls his right hand between her hands. "You don't know that," she tells him with trembling lips. "I could've lost you," she says as her eyes start to mist. A tear escapes the corner of her eye. He lightly touches her face, and brushes the moisture away with his finger. She can't continue staring in his soulful brown eyes; it's too intense. She has to look down, and breathe deeply in an effort to stop crying. She hasn't allowed herself to fall apart before now.

He lifts her chin up, looks deeply in her eyes and says, "Believe me, I'm going to be okay."

She can see the pain and worry etched on his face. Also, there's something in his eyes she hesitates to name. He looks at her like he could love her, but she wonders if it's too soon for that. As he closes his eyes, and leans in to kiss her, a bolt of lightning briefly illuminates the darkness a second before all the lights go out.

Sharon jumps up from the couch to peer out the window. "Looks like we have no electricity. The street lights are out," she says. "Do you have any candles?"

"There's a flashlight in the drawer next to the stove, and there should be a couple of candles and some matches in the same drawer," Andy answers.

As Sharon attempts to make her way to the kitchen in the darkness; Andy's cell phone rings. The detective, sitting outside the house, is calling to make sure they're safe.

"Yeah, we're fine," says Andy. "Hopefully, the electricity will come back on soon. Just sit tight."

She walks back into the living room, with the flashlight and candles, and asks, "What else can go wrong before the sun comes up?"

"Hey, this isn't so bad," he replies. "I think it's romantic."

"Andy, it's not romantic; it's scary. Someone tried to hurt you, and that someone is still out there. Please, tell me again exactly what happened because I just can't wrap my mind around it."

"I understand, but first I need you to help me get out of these clothes and get comfortable. We both need to try to rest for a few hours," he says.

She helps him to his bedroom by candlelight. He sits on the edge of the bed while she attempts to remove his suit jacket without hurting him. He has a sprained left wrist, a twisted ankle and a bruised rib and face. He also has a bruised ego, but he's not sure he's ready to talk about that just yet.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind for the first time you're in my bedroom," he says.

"Oh, really? Well, I'm glad you still have your sense of humor. Honestly, I don't find any of this to be funny."

"No, it's not funny, but I'm still glad you're here."

He reaches down and touches her hair. She's kneeling in front of him, untying his shoes, when she feels his fingers lightly brush the side of her head. She looks up and smiles at him.

"Come here," he says.

She sits next to his uninjured side; he wraps his arm around her and leans in to kiss her hard. His lips are rough, and he pushes his tongue inside her mouth. There's nothing romantic or old-fashioned about this. It's instinct. It's primal. He needs to feel alive, and she needs to know that they're not over. They've just begun. In this moment, the electricity is restored.


	3. Better Safe Than Sorry

Caught up in the kiss, they don't immediately notice there's light filtering through the bedroom window from the street lamp outside. When they pull apart, the light shines on Andy's face; Sharon can see a bruise forming near his left eye. She gently traces the outline of the mark with her fingertip. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes, but I told the doctor not to prescribe pain meds."

"Okay. At least let me get you some aspirin," she says.

"There's some in the medicine cabinet over the sink in the bathroom."

She heads to the kitchen first to get him a glass of water. Checking the lock on the back door one more time, she knows she's being paranoid but better safe than sorry. Flicking the lights off as she walks through his house, she pauses to look out the living room window. She's reassured to see the unmarked car parked nearby. Just standing there staring out at the rain; her thoughts turn to Rusty; she knows he's safe in his dorm room with police protection until they figure out what's going on. Still, her nerves are on edge which is unusual, but this is an unusual situation. She's scared and being alone right now would be unbearable.

With no small amount of effort, Andy finishes undressing while Sharon is out of the room. He's reclining on the bed wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else when she returns. Setting the glass of water down on the nightstand next to him, she's about to turn and walk into the bathroom when he reaches for her hand.

"Sharon, are you okay?"

"I don't really know," she says as she squeezes his hand before letting go and walking into the bathroom for the aspirin.

He sits up and swallows the two pills she hands him. She's restless and preoccupied. Not really knowing what to do with herself, she scoops his suit and dress shirt off the end of the bed, and deposits the bundle on a chair by the bedroom door. "This needs to go to the cleaners," she says.

"Please stop fussing and come lay down."

She takes her shoes off, and stretches out fully clothed next to him on top of the bedspread. There's an Ace bandage wrapped tightly around his ribs, so she's careful not to touch him; although, that's exactly what she wants to do. She would like nothing more than to curl up in his arms, and pretend that everything is okay. The room is very quiet with nothing but the sound of the rain falling on the roof. They're lost in their own thoughts, and reluctant to break the silence. Eventually, Andy asks her if she wants to sleep in one of his t-shirts.

"Sure," she says as she gets off the bed and walks over to his dresser.

"Help yourself," he says with a grin, trying hard to lighten the mood.

She changes in the bathroom, and when she walks out, he can't help but stare at her as she approaches the bed. The candle is still burning, casting a soft glow in the room. He has seen her in uniform, dresses, skirts and jeans, but he has never seen her in one of his old Dodger t-shirts. He opens his mouth to tell her how beautiful she is, but words seem inadequate, so he doesn't say anything.

Climbing into bed, she says, "I know you're probably tired of talking about it, but please go over it with me one more time. I need to understand."

Andy sighs and says, "I don't mind talking about it, but I don't understand it myself. It started around three in the afternoon when Rusty called me because he couldn't reach you on your phone. You were meeting with Taylor in his office, and your phone was on your desk. Anyway, Rusty asked me if I had time to stop by the condo to pick up some legal papers he needed."

"What legal papers?" Sharon asks.

"He needed his birth certificate, and the adoption paperwork for some scholarship he's applying for. He told me right where to find everything, and asked if I would meet him on campus after his last class of the day."

"Couldn't he have just picked up the papers himself after class?" she asks.

"No, because he waited until the last minute to get all this done and he had a tight deadline. I needed to get off the clock anyway, so I agreed to help him out. I used the spare key you gave me to let myself in. The paperwork was right where he told me it would be; that's when I heard a noise in your bedroom. I wasn't exactly sure of what I heard, but when I walked into your room I noticed the closet door was half open; I thought I could see movement out of the corner of my eye, so I drew my gun, and yanked the door open all the way. I looked inside, and noticed a bunch of your clothes on the floor. As I was looking down, a man jumped from the back of the closet, and hit me in the head.

"What did he hit you with?"

"I have no idea, but it wasn't that hard. Mostly, he just stunned me. Then the guy punched me in the gut, and I doubled over for a few seconds. By the time I recovered from the shock, he was already out the front door and running down the hall. I drew my gun and yelled at him to freeze, but he just kept running. There were people in the hall. I couldn't get a good aim on him, and I didn't want to risk shooting an innocent bystander, so I chased him down three flights of stairs. He ran into the parking garage, and I couldn't see him. I didn't see the curb either. That's when I twisted my ankle and went down on my left wrist."

Andy pauses to take a drink of water before continuing. "While I was down I called for backup. That's when I saw a car driving straight at me. I rolled out of the way, and attempted to get in position to shoot out one of the tires. Then the car backed up with the driver's door open. I took a shot and missed. The guy I'd been chasing leaned out the door, and grabbed me while the car kept rolling backwards. He was dragging me, and trying to get the gun out of my hand. It happened so fast. The next thing I knew he shoved me out of the car and drove off."

"And he has your gun," Sharon says.

"All I know for sure is: I don't have it," he says.

"I wonder why he didn't go for your gun when you were in the closet."

"I have no answers, only questions," says Andy.

"Well, hopefully we'll get some answers in the morning. Do you think you can sleep?"

"Probably not, but it might help if you would scoot a little closer to me," he says.

"I'm trying not to hurt you," she tells him.

"Just don't squeeze me too hard."

"I wasn't planning on squeezing you at all."

"A little squeeze wouldn't hurt."

"Andy, go to sleep."

They both wake up when Sharon's cell-phone rings at 7 a.m.

"Captain, your morning is going to be a little more hectic than usual," Provenza says when Sharon answers her phone.


	4. Dream a Little Dream

Sharon doesn't stay on the phone long. As soon as the conversation ends, she turns on her side and stares at Andy. He's lying on his back with his eyes closed.

"I know you're not asleep," she says.

"Yes, I am," he answers with a smirk on his face.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," he answers as he turns his head and opens his eyes to look at her. She looks drowsy and tousled and very kissable. Her hair is all over the pillow. She has one bare leg resting on top of the covers; he skims his index finger back and forth across her knee. If his body wasn't aching so badly, he would wrap her in his arms, and bury his face in her neck.

"I have to get up," she tells him as she rolls over, and tosses the cover aside.

He reaches out, lightly grasps her wrist and says, "Wait."

She hesitates for just a second before turning back to him with an anxious look on her face. "We need to get ready," she says.

"I know, but I just want five more minutes in bed with you."

"Okay, I guess we can take five minutes for ourselves."

"I dreamed about you last night," he tells her. "Actually, it was more like a nightmare."

"I was in your nightmare?"

"Yes," he says, "and it seemed so real. I was rushing around like a crazy person, desperately trying to find you. I would see you walk around a corner at work; I would follow you, but as soon as I turned the corner, you would be gone. Then I would try to meet you somewhere in downtown LA at night, but I could never find you, and I'd end up just walking the dark streets. I had no idea where I was; strangers would tell me where to find you; I'd go where I was told you would be, but you were never there. Sometimes, I'd just miss you by a few minutes. It was so frustrating, but I kept trying and trying. I spent the whole night chasing you."

"You don't have to chase me; I'm right here," she says before carefully leaning down and kissing his mouth. He reaches up with his uninjured arm, and touches the side of her face. She pulls away before he can deepen the kiss.

"We really do have to get out of bed," she says. "I need to go home, get cleaned up, and change clothes before heading to the office. Provenza just told me on the phone that the detectives are making some progress, but they need to meet with both of us this morning. Do you feel up to it?"

"Yeah," he answers. "Why don't you make us some coffee, and I'll get ready as fast as I can."

By the time they leave his house, the sun is up and traffic is already congested. The plain-clothes detective follows them to Sharon's condo where they are met outside her door by another man who introduces himself as Detective Monroe with Robbery-Homicide. He informs them that it was a quite night with no suspicious activity.

Sharon asks, "Did your division find out anything more after I left for the hospital last night?"

"Yes, we know a little more this morning than we did last night," Monroe answers. "There's no sign of a forced entry, and it appears one of your high heels was used to injure Lt. Flynn, but we weren't able to pick up any prints off the leather shoe. We've dusted for prints on surfaces in the closet and master bedroom; results are pending. One of my colleagues spoke with several of your neighbors, and the building manager. We don't have a lot of facts yet, but Captain Martinez will give you a full report later this morning. In the meantime, you're free to enter the residence. As you know, we conducted a search with your assistance, and nothing appears to be missing. Otherwise, we left your home exactly as we found it.

Sharon steps inside the front door with Andy following closely behind. He almost runs into her as she hesitates to move further into the room. "You're going to think I'm crazy, Andy, but I don't know that I'm ever going to feel safe in my own house again."

"You're not crazy, but please try not to worry too much. We'll figure this out. We've got all the resources the LAPD has to offer. I'm going to make myself another cup of coffee while you're getting ready."

"Okay, it won't take me long. I'm anxious to talk to Captain Martinez."

Expecting to find a bit of a mess when she enters her bedroom, she's relieved to see it's not too bad. The detectives were respectful of her property, and she's grateful because she's very organized and meticulous. It will take some time to put her closet back in order, but that's not a priority right now. Walking into the bathroom, she sheds her clothes and drops them in the dirty clothes hamper; she turns on the shower to let the water get warm. Moving to the mirror, she automatically reaches for her hairbrush without looking. Her hand lands on the empty marble countertop. The brush isn't in the usual place. Figuring the detectives probably moved it, she looks for it in the drawer. It's not there either, but she finds a hairclip and puts her hair up before stepping into the shower.

Her muscles ache from tension and not enough sleep; it's very tempting to stand under the hot water until it's no longer hot, but there's no time for that. Allowing herself only a minute of indulgence, she quickly finishes showering, dries off and heads into the bedroom to get dressed. She walks to her dresser to retrieve a clean bra and panties, and immediately notices that the drawer is not as tidy as it is normally. She thinks maybe the detectives had cause to search her dresser, but they wouldn't have removed any of her clothing without telling her. She's missing her black bra and panties. She methodically checks the rest of the drawers, and concludes nothing else is missing. She heads back into the bathroom to check for the missing items in the dirty clothes hamper; there's nothing in there other than the clothes she took off less than ten minutes ago. She needs to go to the utility room and look in the washer and dryer, so she reaches for her robe hanging on a hook mounted to the back of the bathroom door. Her robe is not there, neither is the matching nightgown. She's starting to feel a little shaky. Telling herself not to panic, she dresses quickly and hurries out of the bedroom to look in the utility room. The washer and dryer are empty.

Andy is sitting at the dining room table when she walks in the room. "I like your hair that way," he says. She has an odd look on her face as she approaches the table. When he mentions her hair, she remembers that she can't find her brush.

"Andy, I can't find some of my lingerie, and my hairbrush isn't in the usual place."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I've checked everywhere."

"Let's talk to that detective again," Andy says as he slowly gets up from the table, and follows her to the front door. The detective is sitting on a folding chair looking at his cell-phone when Sharon opens the door.

"Detective Monroe, would you please come inside," she says.

He steps inside, but leaves the front door open in order to continue to monitor activity in the hallway. She's not entirely comfortable talking about her lingerie with the young man, but she has no choice. She describes each article of clothing and the hairbrush. "Did anyone from your division remove those things from my home?"

"No, Captain. We did not," he replies. "You didn't notice the items missing last night when you went from room-to-room with us?"

"No, I didn't notice last night," she says. "I didn't look through my dresser; I was mainly focused on valuables like my jewelry. I didn't pay that much attention when I looked in the bathroom. I was in a hurry to get to the hospital," she says.

"I'll let Captain Martinez know about the missing items," says Monroe.

"And, please inform him we are on our way to meet with him now," says Sharon.


	5. Whispers and Stares

They are well aware of the gossip, innuendo, and outright lies circulating about their relationship within the LAPD. Outwardly, none of it appears to bother Sharon; however, Andy is a different story. Just one look at his face, and she can see all the emotions he's trying hard to suppress: anger, worry, frustration, disappointment, and confusion. She has one eye on the road, and one eye on him as she drives them to work. The radio is on, but it's just noise. It's getting on her nerves almost as much as Andy is in this moment.

"Please tell me what you're thinking," she says as she turns off the radio.

"This is bullshit, Sharon. I guarantee you by the time we walk into work, every single person in the building will be talking about your ... you know, your …"

"You mean my missing clothing, Andy?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I mean."

"The detectives are professionals. They know better than to divulge sensitive information."

"You can't honestly believe what you just said. Did Detective Gabriel know better? You of all people know the damage he created by opening his mouth. This case is exactly the kind of gossip people thrive on, and especially when it involves you. I hate to admit it, but there was a time, not too long ago, I would have joined in the gossip. Now, I can't stand the thought of people talking about you. I don't give a damn what they say about me, but you deserve better."

"I wish I could make you understand the whispers and stares don't bother me. I learned very early on to keep my emotions out of my work. That's the only way I can effectively do my job. I know that doesn't make me the most popular person in the place, but we've talked about this before, Andy. You know I can handle whatever I have to handle. I've been doing it a very long time, and not just at work."

"I just don't believe it doesn't get to you on some level, and I know that you have deep feelings. Honestly, the first time I saw you get emotional, when Rusty ran away, was the first time I saw you as a real person and not just some bureaucratic bitch. I know how that sounds, and I'm not proud of it but it's the truth. When I finally understood how special you are, I never again wanted to see you get hurt."

Staring straight ahead, she doesn't say another word until they pull into the parking garage. Turning the car off; she turns to Andy and gently touches his shoulder. It's hard for her to talk around the lump in her throat, but she needs to tell him how much his words, his caring means to her. His eyes meet hers, and this moment feels too big, too important. "I don't know how to tell you what your words mean to me. You make me feel vulnerable and that's scary. In my position, I can't show vulnerability; I can't show weakness, but I want you to know what's in my heart. You are in my heart, Andy. Please don't forget that. I can't show it or say it when we walk through those doors, but it's the only thing that matters. What people say about me or us doesn't matter."

"You're right; it doesn't matter," he says. "Please don't worry that I can't handle this situation. You have enough to worry about without me adding to your troubles. You don't have to handle me with kid gloves, but just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"I want you to stay with me until we catch this guy," he says.

"Well, I'll admit the thought of being alone right now isn't very appealing."

"Great, then it's settled. Let's get to work," he says with no small amount of false confidence.

Entering the building, she feels a slight sense of dread. She can tell herself, and Andy that other people's opinions don't matter; however, that's not 100% true. She's only human, and sometimes the gossip, rumors, and snide remarks do hurt. She knows there are people who will take great delight in hearing of her difficulties. It has been that way throughout her career. Mostly she's been impervious to it but not always. Having thick skin in her career, and her dealings with her ex-husband, hasn't always been easy. It helps tremendously to know the Major Crimes team, and especially Andy, are now on her side.

Andy is feeling the same dread in the pit of his stomach. Retirement seems more and more like a valid option at the moment. His very visible injuries, and obvious lack of success in apprehending the perp, weigh heavy on him. To top it all off, his gun is gone. Are his fellow officers, including Sharon, sizing him up and finding him lacking? He says he doesn't care what other people think of him, but he knows deep down that's not entirely true. He's no longer a young man, and he's currently feeling every single one of his years. It doesn't help that most people working in Robbery-Homicide weren't even born when he joined the force.

All eyes turn to Sharon and Andy as they enter the Robbery-Homicide Division. The room grows quiet; tension is thick in the air. Captain Martinez gestures for them to enter his office. "Please have a seat," he says. "Monroe informed me that there are items missing from your home, Captain."

"That's correct," Sharon confirms. "Items of a very personal nature."

"Okay, this is officially a robbery, as well as attempted vehicular homicide, and we'll add assaulting a police officer," Martinez says. "My people interviewed your immediate neighbors. Most of them weren't home at the time, and none of them claim to have seen anything out of the ordinary the past few days. The building manager was not much help either, but he did provide videos from the hallway and parking garage. The videos are not the best quality; Buzz is working on enhancing the images right now. When he's finished, we need you both to review them. Unfortunately, we retrieved no prints other than your own, Captain."

"So, essentially what you're telling us is your division hasn't learned a damn thing," Andy retorts.

Sharon shoots Andy a Darth Raydor look, effectively shutting him down before he can make the situation worse. It flits through her mind he assured her, not ten minutes ago, he could handle this situation.

Captain Martinez, basically ignoring Andy's statement, stands up and walks to the doorway of his office. "Detective Nelson, please join us and bring the box," says Martinez.

Sharon and Andy look on in confusion as Detective Nelson enters the office, and begins to empty the contents of a small box onto Martinez's desk.


	6. You Are More Lovely

There's a manila folder, two flash drives, and one sheet of slightly crumpled paper folded in half in the middle of the desk. When Detective Nelson removes a hairbrush from the box, Sharon's heartbeat speeds up; her mind goes blank; she feels numb.

"Captain Raydor, do any of these items belong to you?" asks the detective.

Sharon opens her mouth to speak, but can't seem to form any words. Andy touches her hand, and asks if she's okay. Turning to him, she gives him a wide-eyed look and blinks a few times before telling him that she's okay. Pointing at the brush, she says, "That's mine."

Detective Nelson hands the box to Sharon, and asks her if she recognizes the clothing inside.

Peering in the box, Sharon recognizes her black bra and panties, trimmed with pink lace, and her pale ivory nightgown and robe. Her face feels hot. Handing the box back to the female detective, she confirms the clothing belongs to her. "Where did you find my things?"

"Two traffic officers from the Wilshire Division spotted an abandoned vehicle early this morning," says the detective. "They could see a half-open backpack through the window on the passenger side; these pictures were sticking out of the top." Nelson reaches for the manila folder on the desk, and hands it to Sharon.

With trembling hands, Sharon takes the folder, reaches in and pulls out a handful of pictures. She's staring at herself. Wearing the ivory nightgown, she's peacefully sleeping in the first photo; she's in her favorite position on her side with one bare leg sticking out of the covers; her hair is lushly draped over her left shoulder; her lips are parted slightly. It appears to be dawn due to the amount of light in the room. The picture is of a high enough resolution to see the red polish on her toes.

Overcome with curiosity, Andy puts his reading glasses on, and leans in to look just as Sharon shuffles the stack to see the second picture, which is even more intimate than the first. She's practicing the upward facing dog position in a low-cut tank top and tight yoga pants. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and there's more than a little cleavage showing below the hollow space in her clavicle. Her neck is elongated; her skin is glistening with sweat, and muscle definition is visible. Andy can't stop staring.

No one is saying a word. Muffled voices, and ringing phones can be heard from the outer office. Time seems suspended as Sharon and Andy study the third picture. She's grinning at Rusty over the dinner table with a look of pure love in her eyes. Rusty is obliviously stuffing a large slice of pizza in his mouth. Her delicate wrist bone is visible as she holds a glass of white wine. The scene is very sweet. It occurs to Sharon she would like to frame this picture if the circumstance was different.

The next picture shows Sharon dressed casually, seated on her couch with a basket of clean laundry at her bare feet. She's looking at the TV, and holding her black bra in her hands; the matching panties are on top of a stack of folded laundry on the cushion next to her.

The final picture is Sharon and Andy in profile standing in front of the couch. Their eyes are closed; their noses are touching; their lips are an inch apart. Sharon's left hand is resting on the back of Andy's neck; her right hand is touching his left shoulder. His arms are wrapped tightly around her waist; her breasts press into his chest. A sliver of silver in the shape of a teardrop dangles from her ear almost as if it's floating. It's an erotic photo but for the smudged black X drawn on Andy's face.

Sharon shoves the pictures back in the folder. Her thoughts are jumbled; she's trying to form a coherent question when Andy states the obvious, "These pictures were taken from inside the condo, and whoever did this doesn't like me."

"Yes," says the detective. "We believe the residence is bugged. From the quality of the images, it appears to be very sophisticated surveillance equipment. One of my colleagues is headed to the condo now with our most accurate detection device."

"Do you know what's on the flash drives?" Sharon asks.

"Not yet," the detective says. She scoops both flash drives off the desk, and holds them up in order for Sharon and Andy to see the writing on each. In simple, block lettering one is labeled MINE and the other is labeled DESTROY. "We'll need to see what's on these. Obviously, Captain Raydor, we understand the personal nature of this evidence. I assure you, we're handling your case with kid gloves."

Sharon glances at Andy at the mention of kid gloves. He removes his glasses, and gives her a small smile causing the skin around his expressive eyes to crinkle. She notices the bruise on his face has turned a deeper shade of purple during the night. Resisting the strong urge to cup his cheek in her palm, she looks away as a wave of tenderness mixed with fear floods her heart. Through no fault of her own; Andy is in just as much danger as she is.

"Captain, I'll be in the electronics room with you to review the flash drives. Before we get started, I'd like Buzz to examine the drives for potential computer viruses; once that's complete it shouldn't be necessary for him to stay in the room," the detective says.

"Yes, of course," Sharon agrees.

Picking up the piece of paper from the desk, the detective unfolds it and hands it to Sharon. "This is perhaps the strangest piece of evidence recovered from the backpack," she says.

Sharon adjusts her glasses on her nose, and begins to silently read the computer generated words printed on the page.

 _Sharon,_

 _I'm able to gaze on your beauty at my leisure. You remove your clothes, one by one, until you're standing naked in full view. Indeed, you are more lovely than I could have imagined. You saw me concealed in the shadows and shuddered. You said either you must submit to death for gazing on that which you should not or else kill my husband who has shamed me and become king in his place._

 _Herodotus told our tale in The Histories._

 _You do stand naked, body and soul, before me._

 _Know this, I have gazed upon you and I will kill for you, my true love._

 _It is our destiny._

"This is a threat," Sharon says.

"My thoughts exactly," concurs Detective Nelson.


	7. Beauty-Obsession-Murder

Taking the paper from Sharon's hand, Andy puts his glasses back on, and reads the words to himself once, then twice. Sharon watches him, and breathes deeply in an effort to calm her racing heart and mind.

Looking up and shifting his gaze back and forth between the two women, he asks, "What does this mean?"

"I did a quick Google search right before the two of you walked in here," says the detective. "Herodotus is considered "The Father of History." He wrote a book titled _The Histories_ ; it was published in 440 BC, and is the only book he ever wrote, but it's considered a masterpiece. In his time, he was thought of as an investigator because of the analytical way he collected and organized information. The words you just read are from the first story in his book. It's an ancient, but true story about beauty, obsession, and murder."

"But, I'm not Sharon's husband," Andy remarks.

"I think the person who wrote the note, and owns the backpack, is using the story from _The Histories_ figuratively more than literally," says the detective. "At any rate, it's my opinion that you'll both need police protection until we catch this guy."

Standing up from behind his desk, Captain Martinez says, "This is all very interesting, but we need to get busy." Andy and Sharon get up and start to walk to the door when the phone on the desk rings; Martinez picks it up and listens for a few seconds before telling the caller, "They'll be right there." Hanging up, he says, "That was Buzz. He has done all he can to enhance the recordings from the hallway and parking garage. He's waiting for the three of you in the electronics room. Please, Detective Nelson, keep me apprised of any new developments."

Andy is anxious to talk to Sharon alone to find out what she's thinking and how she's feeling. He can't do that standing between the two women in the elevator on the way to electronics. He can't even put his arm around Sharon to reassure her, so he keeps glancing at her tense face. She isn't looking at him; she's staring at the elevator doors with a furrowed brow; her lips are set in a grim line, and her mind is focused on shaking the feeling of being watched in her own home. Detective Nelson is eyeing both of them. She is still coming to grips with the fact that she's the lead detective on this case. Unbeknownst to Captain Sharon Raydor, the detective has admired her career and tried to emulate her for the seven years she has been on the force. She is working hard to be the consummate professional on the outside, but on the inside she's nervous to be working in such close proximity to her idol. The three people in the elevator are all lost in their own thoughts. It feels like it takes an hour for the elevator to slow to a stop and for the doors to open.

Entering the Murder Room first, Sharon is surrounded by her team members all talking at once. "Wait … just wait," Sharon impatiently declares while pausing for Andy, with his twisted ankle, and Detective Nelson to catch up with her. The entire entourage quietly trails Sharon into electronics. Entering the small room full of equipment, she says, "Buzz, please show us video from the hallway first." He hits a button and the image of a man wearing tan coveralls and a backpack fills the monitor. The man is running hard down the hallway, away from the camera. He appears to be wearing a baseball cap, and is nimbly dodging a few people who are walking in the corridor. After several seconds, Andy can be seen entering the hallway with his gun drawn. People are moving out of the way with startled looks as Andy lowers his arms, and pursues the man down the hall away from the camera.

Sharon asks, "Is that the only angle we have?"

"Yes," Buzz answers.

"Lets see it again, and please slow it down," Andy says. They watch it again at a slower speed.

"I think there's printing on the back of his coveralls," says Detective Nelson, "but it's hard to see because of the backpack." Buzz rewinds the recording, and they watch frame by frame until Nelson says, "Stop … stop it right there. The backpack is blocking most of his back, but I definitely see printing. I just can't make out each individual letter. Buzz, can you zoom in closer on his back?"

"No, the resolution isn't high enough. If I zoom in closer it's too pixelated," answers Buzz.

"Please speak English," says Provenza. Buzz just shakes his head, and gives Provenza an irritated look.

"Play it again," Andy says. "I want to look at the people in the hallway." Buzz rewinds it, and plays the recording for the fourth time. "Stop," says Andy while pointing at the screen. "See that man there? I think I've seen him before." They all stare at a large, blonde man wearing glasses. "Buzz, lets watch it again. I want to see if that man is limping." Buzz complies with Andy's request. He rewinds the recording back to a minute before the perp runs out of Sharon's condo. There's the blonde man walking toward the camera with a slight limp in his right leg. "Yes," Andy says. "I'm certain that's the man I saw in your lobby over a week ago, Captain. Do you remember me describing him to you while we ate dinner? I asked you if you had seen him before."

"Yes I remember, but this is the first time I've ever laid eyes on him," Sharon answers while leaning in and squinting at the screen for a closer look.

"Keep watching him," Andy says. "Lets see what he does after I run by him." The blonde man immediately turns after Andy runs past him in the hall, and walks quickly away from the camera towards the elevator. "Now that's weird," Andy says. "He's walking toward the camera, and then he suddenly turns around, and walks in the opposite direction after I run past him."

"It's possible he could live on my floor," Sharon says. "I don't know every person who lives around me. Buzz, please rewind the recording, so we can see how the man in coveralls gets in my condo," Sharon says. Buzz rewinds to the spot in the recording showing the man in coveralls and a baseball cap letting himself into Sharon's condo with a key. They watch it several times; then, he forwards ten minutes to the spot in the recording showing Andy entering her condo; approximately six minutes goes by before the perp is seen on the video running out the front door with Andy in pursuit. "How did that man get his hands on a key to my home?" Sharon asks no one in particular.

"That's a damn good question," says Detective Nelson. "Buzz, lets watch the recording from the parking garage."

Buzz turns to another computer; touches a button, and the image of a mid-size car appears on the screen driving at a high rate of speed towards the camera. There's an indistinct blur rolling across the bottom of the screen; then the car stops abruptly; the driver's side door opens, and the car begins to roll backwards. Due to the angle of the camera, it's impossible to see what's happening inside the car. Suddenly, it pulls forward; the door closes, and the car speeds out of camera range.

"I was able to perform a screen capture on this video," Buzz says. "I got a pretty clean image of the front license plate."

"I've already done the search," Tao says. "The plates were reported stolen two weeks ago. I'm still trying to contact the owner of the stolen plates for more information."

"Now, if we can please clear the room," Detective Nelson says, "the captain and I have more video to review."

"Do you want me to stay?" Andy asks Sharon.

"No. I want you to give our team an update on what has occurred since yesterday afternoon."

Following orders, Andy reluctantly leaves the room while Buzz scans both flash drives. Determining they are free of viruses and safe to view, he follows Andy out the door.

"Are you ready to begin?" the detective asks Sharon.

"Yes, lets get this over with," Sharon says.

The flash drive, marked MINE, contains five folders. Detective Nelson clicks on the first folder; an image of Sharon fills the screen. She looks tired as she slowly enters her bedroom wearing her work clothes; sitting on the bed, she removes her heels and massages her feet and calf muscles with a look of bliss on her face and a hum in the back of her throat. Next, she stands, stretches her arms out in front of her, rolls her neck, and begins to remove her clothes. Placing each piece of clothing on the bed, she turns and walks out of camera range into the bathroom. The sound of running water can be heard before the video stops.

Sharon feels nauseous sitting beside Detective Nelson in front of the bank of computer monitors. She's visibly pale, and the detective asks her if she needs a break. Shaking her head no, Sharon crosses her arms in front of her. The detective clicks on the second folder. The image is much darker. It's Sharon's bedroom; the lamp on her bedside table is providing the only light in the room. Sharon approaches the bed in her nightgown. She sets a glass of water down on the bedside table, touches a button on the alarm clock, removes several small pillows from the bed, and turns the covers back before sliding in. The sound of her silky gown smoothly gliding against the sheet sounds very loud in the quiet of the electronics room. Leaning into the light with her eyes half closed, her hair falls forward and obscures her face. Her arm reaches up; the light clicks off and the screen is completely dark.

The third folder contains footage of her doing yoga on the floor in her bedroom. She's breathing heavily as she works through several complicated poses in a tank top and yoga pants. Studying her own image on the screen, she realizes how provocative some of the poses look. After a couple of minutes of watching herself, she says, "Can we just fast forward through this?"

The detective touches the computer keyboard and the video speeds up for a minute, then stops. Detective Nelson would really rather be just about anywhere but here; however, she has a job to do and she intends to be as professional as the woman she's sitting next to. "Captain, I know this is hard, but we're almost finished." Opening the fourth folder, they see Sharon still in her yoga clothes slouching on the couch and sipping a glass of white wine. The TV is on; the sound of a man's voice fills the room; "The first person voted out of Survivor, Second Chance is Vytas. You need to bring me your torch." Sharon's laughter can be heard over the TV. She sits up, puts the glass to her lips and downs the remainder of the wine; she then picks up the remote and turns off the TV. Rising from the couch, she walks out of the living room and out of camera range. A few seconds later, she walks back in the room, and sits back down on the couch. Reaching for her cell-phone on the coffee table, she presses a button with a huge grin on her face. "You owe me dinner," she says into the phone. "I told you he would be the first one voted out." After a brief pause, she says, "Don't try to weasel your way out of it. You're going to buy me dinner at Serve, and I'm going to wear my new dress." Her face is flushed as she laughs into the phone. Ending the conversation with a smile on her lips, she softly says, "Good night, Andy, I'll see you tomorrow." The video stops.

The final folder on the flash drive contains the five pictures they've already seen. "I need to take a quick break," Sharon tells the detective before walking out of the room.


	8. Like a Feather

Andy notices Sharon walking out of the Murder Room. He starts to get up from behind his desk to follow her when Provenza says, "Why don't you give her a little breathing room?" Sitting back down, Andy reaches into his desk drawer; pulling out a bottle of aspirin, he pops two pills in his mouth, and takes a swig of the cold coffee that has been sitting untouched on his desk for the past 30 minutes.

Sharon is not oblivious to the concerned looks on the faces of the people she passes; however, making eye contact is out of the question. She just needs a moment; a moment alone; a moment with no one staring at her. Rushing into the ladies room, she pushes open an empty stall, turns and locks herself in. Still standing, she rests her forehead on the back of the door, and shuts her eyes. Even with her eyes closed, the images from the videos still haunt her. The worst part of it is that it's not over. She still has another flash drive to view, and she's pretty sure of what she's going to see: It was such a special night. She had prepared fettuccini Alfredo as a surprise for Andy. While eating dinner, they had discussed taking a trip to the Napa Valley. Drinking one glass of wine too many, she joined him on the couch after they ate. She remembers feeling weightless, like a feather. At the time, she was aware she had drank too much wine, but she really didn't care. Her inhibitions were practically nonexistent as she curled up next to Andy, and began to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. He was talking to her, describing the man with the limp that he'd seen in the lobby, but she wasn't even pretending to listen. She was mesmerized by his mouth, and the way his tongue would occasionally slide over his top lip. He finally stopped talking long enough for her to impatiently press her lips to his. Her tongue was in his mouth in no time. She was practically sitting in his lap; his left hand was in her hair; his right hand was kneading her breast. She was stroking the inside of his thigh through his pants, going higher and higher with her fingers. Feeling the bulge between his legs, she cupped him with a little squeeze, and that's when he broke the kiss. Panting, he tried to look into her heavily lidded eyes. She remembers the confused look on his face right before she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. She was warm, happy, and very sleepy. She didn't wake up until she heard him loading the dishwasher. She was a little groggy and a lot embarrassed; nevertheless, it had been a great night. Now, she's filled with dread at the prospect of potentially having to watch that special evening play out on video in front of Detective Nelson.

Standing in the stall, it hits her that she has faced situations just as challenging, if not more so, than the current situation; she has stared down career criminals; she has had to inform a mother that her children are dead; she has faced the disdain of her fellow officers; she has been mommy and daddy to her children; she can do this. Taking a deep breath, she holds her head up, and walks with a renewed sense of purpose back to electronics. Closing the door behind her, she instructs the detective to open the flash drive marked DESTROY. There are four folders on the drive. When the detective clicks open the first folder, music can be heard. The image is not 100% clear due to the soft candlelight; however, Sharon can be seen sitting with Andy at the dining room table. She is talking about staying in a B & B in the Napa Valley. "I found the perfect place online. It has Victorian architecture, a canopy bed, and a fireplace in the room," she says. "We can even take a hot air balloon ride."

"Tell me more about the bed," Andy says with a teasing tone in his voice.

Reaching for her wine glass, Sharon takes a long swallow, and gazes at Andy before saying, "I've waited a long time to let a man in my life again. I never dreamed you'd be that man, but here you are. Thank you for being patient with me."

Detective Nelson is doing her best to appear impassive about what she's hearing and seeing, but she's melting on the inside. Andy Flynn and Sharon Raydor are fire and ice. They are polar opposites, but she's starting to understand how perfectly they complement each other. He fills her hollow places and smooths her sharp edges; she makes him strive to be the person she believes him to be; the person she needs him to be.

On the screen, Sharon and Andy get up from the table, and walk into the living room. Standing in front of the couch, Andy pulls her to him; wrapping both arms around her waist and crushing her breasts to his chest, he leans down; his nose grazes hers; their lips slowly meet in a lazy, lingering kiss. After almost a minute, they separate and Andy settles on the couch. She curls into his side, tucking her bare feet under her, and begins stroking the back of his head.

"I'm not trying to scare you, it's just that the blonde man walking with a limp in your lobby gave me a weird feeling. Please just be aware of your surroundings, and be extra cautious," Andy says. Sharon just nods at him right before attacking his lips with her own.

"Please fast forward," Sharon tells the detective who looks visibly relieved to do so.

The second folder contains video from later that same evening; however, the screen is brightly lit with the lights turned on in Sharon's living room. It's quiet; there's no music playing. Sharon is walking slightly ahead of Andy towards the front door. He is openly staring at her backside. A fact she is blissfully unaware of. They're both smiling broadly. Andy reaches for her hand; she turns, and he gathers her in his arms. They kiss, standing with their bodies flush against each other. Sharon pulls away first and tells him good night. They both walk out of camera range; the sound of her front door opening and closing can be heard before she walks back into the living room, turns off the light, and the video ends.

The third folder contains footage of Sharon in her nightgown and matching robe reclining against the throw pillows on top of her bed. She's holding her cell-phone in her right hand, and using her left hand to rub lotion on her left leg. "No, you don't know him," she says into the phone. Listening to the person she's having a conversation with, she pauses for a few seconds and then says, "I hope you and Larry can join us for dinner soon. It's been so long since I've seen you. How's that husband of yours?" She's listening with a smile on her face, and rubbing her leg. "Well, we have to get together. I want you to meet Andy. I know you'll like him. He has a fantastic sense of humor, and he's the sweetest man I've ever known. Did I tell you what he and the kids did for me last Christmas?" Sharon pauses to listen before saying, "I couldn't get out of the office, so they surprised me by setting up my Christmas village at work. We had a celebration right in the office. He's just so thoughtful. He has two grown children, and he really works hard to stay close to his kids. I just wish my own kids had a dad like that." Sharon stops talking, and shifts the phone to her left hand. Reaching to the bedside table, she picks up the tube of lotion and squirts some on her right leg. "Yes, he's very handsome, and a sharp dresser." She begins to rub in the lotion. "He cares more about fashion than I do," she says with a laugh and a little snort. Pausing for a minute to listen to her friend, she then says, "Now that's none of your business, but I'll tell you anyway. He's the best kisser, and so sexy. I'm telling you Judy, this one's a keeper. Okay, I'll talk to you later. Say hi to Larry for me, and call me when you guys can get together with us. Good night." Ending the conversation, she sets the phone down on the bedside table; removing her robe, she applies lotion to both arms and rubs it in before picking up the tube, and squirting more lotion into the palm of her hand. Her fingers dip down into the low cut neckline of her gown as she rubs the lotion on her chest and up into her neck. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, enjoying the clean, fresh scent of the lotion. The video ends.

The final folder shows Andy moving a chair in Sharon's living room. He's wearing jeans and a tight, dark t-shirt. His biceps and triceps are straining against the material of the shirt; he has worked up a slight sweat. "Sharon, the chair looks great right there. That's the perfect spot."

"I'm not sure. Will you move it to the left?"

"Yes, but this makes the third time I've moved it," he says with a grimace as he bends down to lift and move the chair."

"No, I don't like it there. Please move it back there," she says while pointing to a spot on the other side of the room.

Moving the chair to the spot she's pointing to, he says, "Remind me to never help you rearrange your living room ever again." Setting the chair down, he turns and looks at her with a smirk on his face. "You do realize this is where the chair was originally."

She bursts into laughter, and wraps her arms around his neck. "Eeeew, you're sweaty," she says.

"I wonder why," he replies before wrapping his arms around her, kissing her hard on the mouth, and letting his hands stray down her back to cup her butt.

The video ends, Detective Nelson turns to Sharon and says, "I can't even imagine how hard it was for you to watch all that. It was hard for me too, but it's important that we try to gain an understanding of what the perpetrator is thinking and what he might do next."

"I'm going to be honest with you. I'm more than a little scared by this," Sharon says.

"That's certainly understandable, Captain. It has occurred to me that we need to sweep Lt. Flynn's house for hidden surveillance as well. First, I'd like to take a break, check in with my team, and grab a bite of lunch. Why don't we meet back here in an hour?"

Sharon nods her head, and reassures the detective that she and Andy will not leave the building. Walking into the Murder Room, she notices her team has been busy outlining the pertinent facts on the Murder Board. She is grateful Major Crimes isn't occupied with a case of their own. Walking into her office, Andy is hot on her heels with a couple of sandwiches in his hands. Of course, he wants to know what she just watched. She gives him a brief summary of what was on both flash drives. He doesn't say much; he mostly listens, then hands her a sandwich.

"I don't think I can choke it down," she says. "I just want a cup of coffee. Can I bring you something to drink?"

"A fresh cup of coffee would be great," he says before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Sharon runs into Amy in the break room and gives her a weak smile. The look on Amy's face is a mixture of embarrassment, worry, and trepidation, feelings Sharon can very much relate to at the moment. As soon as Sharon's back is turned at the coffee pot, Amy works up the courage to ask a question. "Captain, you don't suppose your ex-husband could be involved in this mess, do you?"

While her ex is more than capable of bad behavior, she doesn't believe for one minute that Jack is involved. "No, I really don't see that as a possibility. He would have nothing to gain, and in the long run, my ex is basically all about what's in it for him."

"How about someone in law enforcement? Someone you may have disciplined in the past," Amy suggests.

"That could be a very long list of suspects," Sharon replies.

"Well, I'm just trying to help," Amy says with a smile.

"I know, and I appreciate it. There is something you can do for me. Please help me keep Taylor in the loop. I've been so busy; I haven't had the time to stop and talk to him."

"Sure thing, Captain."

Sharon returns to her office with two cups of coffee. The Murder Room is mostly empty in the middle of the day; she doesn't bother closing her door; there's really no point; she feels like her whole life is now an open book. It's a distressing feeling for such a private person.

"My instinct is telling me the man with the limp has something to do with all this," states Andy.

"I agree."

"What's our next move?"

"You'll need to let Robbery-Homicide into your house to check for hidden surveillance equipment," she says. "Then I think you need to stay home and rest for the remainder of the day." Andy is shaking his head before she can complete her thought.

"There's no time for rest, Sharon."

"Less than 24 hours ago, someone attacked you and tried to run you over. You need to make time to rest and heal and that's an order, Lieutenant." Taking a fortifying sip of coffee, she continues, "I'm going to have a little visit with my building manager this afternoon. He needs to come in and watch the recording from the hallway. I've got several questions for him."

Before Andy can argue further, Detective Nelson pokes her head in the door and says, "I've got news."


	9. Without Which There Is Nothing

"Captain, we've found hidden surveillance equipment in your living room and both bedrooms," says Detective Nelson, "and that's not all, please follow me." Sharon and Andy exchange curious looks as they each get up, and follow the detective into the Murder Room.

Lt. Tao watches the trio approach his desk with an excited look on his face. He stands up, and hands Sharon the smartphone he's holding. Pointing at the screen, he asks, "Does this look familiar?"

Staring at the phone, Sharon can hardly believe what she's seeing on the screen. There's a man wearing a suit, tie and socks entering her bedroom. He proceeds to climb on top of her bed. Looking over her shoulder, Andy says, "What the hell?" As they both watch, the man reaches up towards the light fixture with a screwdriver in his hand; a few seconds pass then the screen goes blank.

"Isn't that cool?" says Tao before immediately launching into an explanation of how the smartphone app works using words like megapixels, JPEGs, IP datagrams, WEP and security protocols. The three people standing around his desk just stare at him.

When he finally pauses long enough to take a breath, Detective Nelson says, "My team members are removing the equipment found in your light fixtures. They tell me that it's very sophisticated surveillance equipment, not available to the average person, and that phone you're holding was recovered this morning under the passenger seat in the abandoned vehicle along with the backpack and everything in it. We're tracking down the vehicle registration, and Lt. Tao has confirmed that the license plate number is the same as the vehicle that attempted to run over Lt. Flynn yesterday. Unfortunately, we weren't able to lift any prints off the car or the phone."

"Detective, do we need to be concerned about probable cause in the search of the vehicle?" Sharon asks.

Andy has to suppress a smirk, and the strong urge to roll his eyes when he hears those words come out of Sharon's mouth. He realizes that no matter which division she's in charge of, she'll always be Rulebook Raydor. There was a time when her strict adherence to policy and procedure crawled under his skin and irritated the hell out of him, but that was in the past. He, and the rest of the Major Crimes team, has learned to value her keen understanding and appreciation of the rules, especially when the end result is more criminals end up behind bars.

"The vehicle was partially blocking the entrance to an access road," says Detective Nelson, "so the police officers had public safety issues in mind when they initially examined it. They could see through the driver's-side window that the key was in the ignition. Additionally, they saw photographs sticking out of the backpack through the passenger's-side window. One of the officers recognized you, Captain, from the photo of you sitting on the couch folding laundry. Both officers are aware of the situation with the intruder who attacked Lt. Flynn in your condo, so there's more than enough probable cause to conduct a search and seizure with no warrant."

"Why would anyone abandon a car with the key still in the ignition, and leave their belongings behind?" Andy asks.

"I assume this person had no choice," answers Nelson. "And, it gets even stranger. The driver's-side door wasn't locked; as a matter of fact, it was partially open as if the driver was too hurried or busy to properly close the door. Also, after our officers observed skid marks at the scene, they determined there was another car involved. The abandoned vehicle has damage on the front, driver's-side, which appears to have been caused by a black vehicle, and there's a broken headlight on the same side."

"Let me guess, the black vehicle is long gone," Andy says.

"That's correct," says the detective while holding up a cheap, plastic, promotional keychain with three keys attached. "These were in the ignition of the abandoned vehicle. Notice the keychain says Dion's Pizza, and the address is about three blocks from the Captain's condo."

Pointing at the phone in Sharon's hand, Tao says, "That burner phone called the phone number printed on that keychain at least a half dozen times in the past ten days. We need to obtain the delivery address associated with that phone number."

"Did you find other phone numbers stored in the phone?" Sharon asks Tao.

"Yes, a total of five; three numbers for restaurants near your condo, one for a high-end gift and flower shop in Beverly Hills, and one for another phone which goes directly to voice mail every time I call."

"Lt. Tao please follow up on the delivery address; Lt. Flynn you need to head home with a detective from Robbery-Homicide to check your house for hidden surveillance, and I don't want to see you back here today," Sharon says with a smile and a squeeze of Andy's shoulder. "Detective Nelson, we need to get my building manager in here to look at the footage from the hallway; he might be able to help identify the intruder."

"I'm already on it," says the detective. "I've called him, and he's on his way here."

"Be sure to show him the blonde man with the thick glasses and the limp; I'm betting he has something to do with all this," Andy says.

Before anyone can make a move, Lt. Provenza clumsily enters the room carrying a large basket he can barely see around; he's followed by a young woman with an uncomfortable look on her face. "Captain, I ran into this young lady downstairs. This is Connie Owens, owner of Connie's Custom Gifts and Flowers, she'd like to speak to you," Provenza says.

Stepping forward, and thrusting her hand out to shake Sharon's hand, the young woman says, "Captain Raydor, I'm so sorry this basket wasn't delivered to you yesterday. I guaranteed your boyfriend it would happen, but it took my staff longer than anticipated to source some of the items. I wanted to deliver it and apologize in person."

When the woman mentions her boyfriend, Sharon makes eye contact with Andy who shakes his head no.

"Join me in my office," Sharon says to the woman in her Captain Raydor voice, "and Lt. Provenza, please put the basket on my desk."

Connie Owens is sure she's going to get an earful from an unhappy customer; however, she's pleasantly surprised when Sharon offers her a seat and a smile before closely examining the basket on her desk.

"Ms. Owens, would you please answer a few questions for me?" asks Sharon.

"Of course, and again, I'm so sorry if I missed your birthday or anniversary."

"I'm not concerned about the delivery date," Sharon says. "I need to know who ordered the basket because I can assure you it wasn't my boyfriend."

"Oh, well that's really odd because I spent over 20 minutes on the phone with him. He was so charming. I have to say, I was a little jealous of you because he spoke so lovingly about you, and he was very precise about each gift. I was surprised at his attention to detail; most of my male clients don't really have such specific requests. He told me that I was not to settle for less than the best products because his girlfriend deserves the best. You need to read the note he dictated to me over the phone. It's in the basket."

Sharon reaches in her drawer for scissors to cut open the cellophane covering the basket.

"He said the note should be a work of art because Sharon is a work of art; he insisted that the note be hand-written using calligraphy on papyrus. It took me two hours to locate a calligrapher who could do the job on such short notice. I've been in business five years, and I've never had anyone ask me to do that."

Reaching into the basket, Sharon removes a rolled-up scroll and begins to read to herself:

 _My True Love,_

 _It has been so long since I've caressed your face, and stared into your soul through your beautiful jade eyes. Not a day has passed that I haven't dreamed of you, desired you, and loved you. I will give you the remainder of your gifts when I can gaze upon your beauty in person. We will be together soon. It is our destiny._

The office is very quiet as Sharon silently reads the note twice. The first sentence really rattles her because he is stating he has been close to her in the past. Andy shifts uncomfortably in the chair next to Connie Owens. He notes the worried expression on Sharon's face, and the slight tremor in her hand as she hands the scroll to Detective Nelson who is standing next to her desk studying the contents of the basket. His left side is aching; he has a pounding headache, but he doesn't want to leave; he wants to help even though he's feeling frustrated and hampered by his injuries.

Sharon asks, "Did the man give you his name and address, and how did he pay you?"

"His name is Clinton Williams; I don't remember his address off the top of my head, but I can get it for you; he paid with a Visa Gift Card over the phone. Is … is there a problem, did I do something wrong?"

"No, you've done nothing wrong," Sharon says reassuringly, "it's just that we're in the middle of an investigation, and it's vitally important that you tell us everything you can about the transaction."

"Well, I did ask him if he needed my assistance with the gifts he intends to give you in person. He said no, but he did ask me for a recommendation regarding the best place to buy lingerie. I told him La Perla on Rodeo Drive is my personal favorite because their clothing is so luxurious."

At the mention of lingerie, Andy grimaces, tenses his jaw and makes a fist with his right hand.

"Oh yeah, he also said that he's going to surprise you with the lingerie as soon as the two of you can get away to the special B&B he picked out in the Napa Valley."

Sharon and Andy lock eyes as they both remember the evening they discussed taking a trip together to the Napa Valley. That was the same evening Andy saw the strange, blonde man with a limp, and Sharon drank a tad too much wine and fell asleep on her couch after dinner.

"Was there any problem with the payment?" asks Detective Nelson.

"Not to my knowledge, and the final bill was over $900. When I realized that the delivery wouldn't be made on the requested date, I tried to call him, but the contact number he gave me is not a working number."

Sharon begins to pull items out of the basket: three Archipelago candles in her favorite exotic scents, a 2012 bottle of Sine Qua Non white wine she told Andy she has always wanted to taste, a box of dark chocolate Godiva truffles just like the one she keeps in her bedside table, a bottle of the exclusive Crème De La Mer lotion that's twice the size of the tube Ricky bought her for her birthday, and a sterling silver hairbrush inside an indigo silk pouch. Fingering the engraved scrollwork on the back of the brush, she realizes that the pattern is the Claddagh, Irish love symbol, that is on a needlepoint pillow she keeps on her bed. Her mother made her that pillow when she married Jack. The thought of Jack, and the thought of how the intruder has learned what she likes by watching and listening to her in her own home gives her a sudden urge to get up and go wash her hands.

Glancing up, Sharon looks at Andy, and is concerned about how pale he looks. "Detective Nelson, please have one of your colleagues drive Lt. Flynn to his house, and make sure they check for hidden surveillance. Ms. Owens, please get back to me with that address as soon as possible, and thank you for your cooperation."

As everyone stands to leave the office, Provenza sticks his head in the door to inform the captain her building manager is waiting with Buzz in electronics. Sharon stops in front of Provenza and tells him to get rid of the items on her desk. "I don't want any of it," she says before walking out the door. Provenza's eyes light up while he calculates, in his head, how many brownie points he's going to score with Patrice on her birthday, Christmas and Valentine's Day.


	10. Smooth Operator

"Lieutenant, please leave the note, and get rid of the rest of it," she says to Provenza over her shoulder as she hurries out of her office to catch up with Andy. She places her hand on the middle of Andy's back to get his attention. He slows down, and hangs back as Detective Nelson escorts Connie Owens out of the Murder Room.

"Detective Nelson, I'll meet you in your department in a few minutes," Andy says before turning to Sharon and saying, "I don't suppose I can get you to change your mind about sending me home."

Sliding her hand from his back to his elbow, she gives him a warm smile and says, "No, absolutely not. You need to let Robbery-Homicide check for hidden surveillance, and then get some rest."

"Okay, but first I want to talk to the detective about an old case I worked back in the '90s when I was in Robbery-Homicide," he says.

"What old case?"

"Well, that's the thing. I can't remember the details; it's just been too long, but it's been bugging me since you told me your hairbrush was missing. I vaguely remember a series of break-ins, probably in the mid-90s, that involved personal items missing from the homes of several women living in the same high-rise apartment building. I'm pretty sure each woman was missing a hairbrush. Anyway, I think it's worth researching to see if there might be some connection."

"I trust your instincts," Sharon says, "I think it's a good idea." She pauses while a couple of people walk past them in the middle of the Murder Room, then she asks Andy, "Do you still want me to stay with you?"

Andy's face lights up, and he says, "Of course."

"I'm going to stop by my condo, and pack a few things as soon as I can get out of here. Honestly, I don't feel like being alone right now. I'll stop and get us something to eat for dinner before I head to your place."

Looking at her with a sly grin on his face, he says, "So, you're telling me you're not going to cook me a five-course meal tonight?"

Rolling her eyes at him, she says, "That's exactly what I'm telling you. Now, get some rest, but don't forget to call and let me know if Robbery-Homicide finds anything."

"Okay," he says with a grin still on his face as he watches her walk away. There are times when he's around her that he feels like a gawky junior high kid at his first dance; that's weird because in reality he's a pretty smooth operator, or at least he was once upon a time. The young woman who delivered the unwanted gift basket would've been putty in his hands back in the day. Back before he finally came to the realization that Sharon Raydor could be more than just a fantasy, much more. He couldn't have been more surprised when she essentially invited herself to his daughter's wedding. He wasn't expecting that; he wasn't expecting her to be a friend; he wasn't expecting her to become more and more important in his life; he wasn't expecting her to occupy more and more of his thoughts; he wasn't expecting to feel like a gawky junior high kid at his age. These are the thoughts on his mind as he rides the elevator down to Robbery-Homicide.

Sharon is having her own thoughts on the way to the ladies room before heading to electronics. She has been so busy all day absorbing and analyzing each piece of new information they've received. Her brain is on overload; however, that hasn't stopped her from dwelling on thoughts of Andy beside her in his bed last night. What a strange sensation it was for her to share sleeping space with another person after so long. She had felt like she was wearing kid gloves in bed; careful not to invade his space yet feeling overwhelmed by his presence. She thinks she'll always remember the searing kiss they shared right before the electricity came back on in his house. Even now, she can feel her lips tingling just thinking about it. She didn't realize how much she missed kissing; just kissing with no expectations of more, no pressure; just the feel of soft lips and stubble, the mingling of breaths and sighs. _Snap out of it_ she thinks; _you have a job to do, and you are the boss_. She doesn't always like being the boss though. At times, like now, she'd love nothing more than to be a writer or a painter or a ballerina, anything but what she is: a person who deals with death almost daily. Fortunately, she has trained her mind to skim the surface when need be. She is able not to dwell on the horror; she is able, with her team, to put the pieces of a puzzle together, and push forward, always forward, for the answers. That's exactly what she needs to do now.

She can hear his obnoxious voice before entering electronics. Trey Fisher, the man who manages her building and several others, is a smug know-it-all. Plastering a fake smile on her face, she enters the room, shakes his hand, and says, "Thanks for coming in."

"I hope this won't take long," he says, "I have several appointments today, and I'm already running late."

"I should like to think you'd be happy to help with police efforts to assure no one else in our building is in danger, Mr. Fisher. But, no, this shouldn't take long. I'd like you to watch some clips from video you supplied us. It's important that we identify the intruder who was in my condo yesterday, and we need to know how he obtained a key."

"I don't understand why you think I can help, as I already told the police, I don't know a thing about what happened," he says with irritation on his face and in his voice.

Tempering her irritation, Sharon replies, "As per my contract with the homeowner's association, your office has a copy of my current house key. Do you still have that key?"

"Yes, your key is in my office. Have you given copies to other people?" he asks.

"Yes I have, but those keys are accounted for," Sharon says.

Picking up on the building tension between the two, Buzz asks, "Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes," says Sharon and the manager at the same time.

Buzz touches the computer in front of him; the screen fills with the image of the man in coveralls, wearing a baseball cap and backpack, walking with his head down towards the camera; he stops at the door to Sharon's condo, and inserts a key in the lock; he opens the door and enters her condo.

"Do you have any idea who this man is?" asks Sharon.

"I can't see his face, but he's dressed like one of the exterminators we use. Foster's Pest Control sprayed the entire building a couple of weeks ago. You should've received notice in your mailbox before your unit was exterminated."

"Yes, I did, but I'm curious. How long have you used that particular company?"

"I've used them for at least five years."

"How do they enter each condo when they spray the building?" asks Sharon.

"If the homeowner isn't present to let the exterminator in then my assistant unlocks each door with the keys we retain in our office, and she locks each door as the exterminator finishes spraying each unit."

"So, you're saying the exterminator never touches the keys."

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Are you sure about that?"

"That's our established procedure, but I wasn't physically present on the day your unit was sprayed," he answers. "Come to think of it, I wasn't aware that an exterminator was scheduled to be in the building yesterday."

"So, if this man is an exterminator you know of no reason he should be returning to my condo, and you think he's not using a key supplied to him by you or your assistant?" asks Sharon.

"That's correct."

"I'd like to confirm with your assistant that she followed procedure when my condo was sprayed two weeks ago, and please, Mr. Fisher, get me the contact information for Foster's Pest Control as soon as possible." Turning to Buzz, Sharon says, "Now, show us the large, blonde man with the limp as he gets off the elevator and walks down the hall towards the security camera."

Buzz rewinds the video to the correct spot, and they watch the blonde man with thick glasses walking with a slight limp in his right leg towards the camera. "Please stop right there," Sharon tells Buzz. Pointing at the man on the monitor, she asks, "Do you know this man?"

The building manager studies the image for a few seconds before shaking his head no. Glancing at his watch, he sighs heavily and says, "I told you I wouldn't be any help." Reaching into the breast pocket of his suit, he pulls out a business card and a pen; he writes a name and phone number on the back of the card and hands it to Sharon. "This is my card. I wrote the name and number for my assistant on the back. She can give you the contact information for Foster's, and feel free to ask her any questions you have about our procedures. Unless you have any more questions for me, I really need to run."

"That's all for now," Sharon says before pointing to the computer monitor again, "but if you see that man in the building or a man wearing tan coveralls, please contact me immediately. Follow me, and I'll give you my card."

They leave the room; he follows her to her office. She gives him her business card and reminds him, one more time, how important it is to call her if he sees the men in question or any suspicious activity. As soon as he leaves, she sits down behind her desk and notices the sandwich and cold cup of coffee she shoved aside earlier in the day. Her stomach rumbles, and she realizes she's hungry. Just as she takes a bite of the slightly stale sandwich, Detective Nelson enters her office.

"How did it go with your building manager?"

Sharon finishes chewing and swallows before telling the detective about her meeting with the manager. "I suppose it's plausible that the intruder is an exterminator, but I still don't know how he has a key to my home, or why he would stalk me and steal from me. Why would he attempt to run over Lt. Flynn and take his gun? Why would he send me lavish, expensive gifts?"

"He's obviously obsessed with you, but this goes way beyond ordinary stalker behavior," says the detective, "and I highly doubt he's an exterminator. Whoever he is, he has connections that the average guy doesn't have. The surveillance equipment recovered from your condo is only available to certain government and law enforcement officials. That makes me think this man could be a member of the LAPD. Have you thought about that, Captain?"

Taking another bite, Sharon nods her head yes as she chews; picking up the rolled-up scroll on her desk, she swallows before saying, "I've also thought about this note. In this man's twisted mind, he has caressed my face, and stared into my soul."

"I'm sorry to have to ask you uncomfortable questions, but I need to know if it's true," says the detective.

Sharon stares with a confused look on her face at the woman sitting across from her. "Are you asking about my love life?"

"Yes, it's a pertinent question. I know you were married, but separated for many years, so, besides your ex-husband and your current relationship with Lt. Flynn, has there been anyone special in your life? And, don't answer right away; think about it. The note says it has been so long since I've caressed your face, and stared into your soul. Maybe this is a man from a long time ago."

The instant the detective says those words, Sharon's mind is back in San Francisco. It was seven years ago; she and a co-worker, Evan Maddox, attended a conference on behalf of the LAPD. They had worked side-by-side for two years before attending the conference. There had always been a subtle attraction between the two, never acted upon. Married but separated, she was content with her life; although, her empty nest left her lonely at times. He was divorced, and had no children. His job was his life, and it was the same with her.

They travelled to San Francisco together. Sexual tension filled the air from the moment she got in the car with him. She had never seen him wear anything but a tailored suit, so she was caught off guard to see him dressed casually in jeans, and an untucked collared shirt with the top two buttons undone. She tried hard not to stare at his chest hair, and he tried hard not to stare at the hint of cleavage he could see when she turned slightly in the passenger seat to talk to him. The ironic thing about their situation was the fact they were travelling to the conference to participate in a panel discussion about diversity and sexual harassment in the workplace.

Arriving in the city in the early afternoon, they checked into the Omni, picked up the material they would need for the conference scheduled to start early the next day, and then decided to do a little sightseeing. They took a cable car ride and visited Fisherman's Wharf before having dinner at a restaurant with a beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Conversation flowed easily over a shared bottle of wine while dining; after dinner they returned to the hotel not wanting the day to end. She was about to change out of her clothes when she heard him knocking on the door that separated their adjoining rooms. When she opened the door, he was standing there holding the identification badge she would need to enter the conference.

"I think I got your badge, and you got mine," he said.

"Oh, come on in and let me look," she replied before walking to the table by the window. She located his badge and turned to hand it to him; he was standing closer to her than she realized, and when she turned, she was practically in his arms. Staring into her eyes, he slid his index finger back and forth across her cheekbone. Two years of repressed sexual energy ignited when their mouths joined in a molten hot kiss that seemed to last an hour. Eventually, they broke apart and just stared at each other.

"I'm sorry; I can't do this; I'm married," she said.

"No, I'm sorry. It's my fault; I've wanted to kiss you for so long, but it won't happen again. Please don't let this ruin our professional relationship."

It was weird and awkward, but they managed to get through the conference and the trip back to LA. Slowly their friendship returned to normal, and she was able to comfortably work with him. Six months after the conference, he moved to Boston and she never saw him again.

"Yes, detective, to answer your question there was someone special in my life for a brief time, but it was a long time ago, and I can assure you he is not stalking me now or trying to kill Lt. Flynn."

"I hope you understand why I had to ask. I'm just doing my job, Captain. I also need to ask if you can spare a couple of people to help us track down the case Lt. Flynn remembers from the mid-90s?"

"Yes, I'll assign detectives Sanchez and Sykes to assist your team."


	11. Drenched in Wine

The phone on Sharon's desk rings; she answers it. Detective Nelson uses the interruption to jot down a few notes. She's filled with a sense of relief. She had been anxious about approaching the subject of the Captain's love life, but it had gone smoothly. She respects the older woman, and admires the way she handles herself. Captain Sharon Raydor is an excellent role model; the detective feels fortunate to spend time with her, even in this less than ideal situation.

Sharon is calmly writing on a notepad; she's not aware the young detective is studying her out of the corner of her eye. Nelson hasn't had the opportunity to work with a lot of women, and certainly never with one of the highest ranking females in the entire LAPD; most of her career has been spent in the company of men. In her time on the force, she's learned that men can be just as emotional, if not more so, than women. Captain Sharon Raydor doesn't let her emotions rule her; that's a trait Nelson has adapted and used to her advantage in her own climb up the career ladder.

Hanging up the phone, Sharon hands the detective the paper she was writing on and says, "That was Connie Owens with the contact information for Clinton Williams. In all probability that's not the man's real name or address, and we already know that phone number is not a working number, but your team needs to check this out right away."

The detective takes the paper from Sharon who has a pensive look on her face. It occurred to Sharon, as she was talking, that she needs to back off and let the detective, in charge of the case, take the lead. "I'm sorry," she says to the younger woman.

"Sorry for what?" asks the detective.

"It's hard for me to put in words, but I was a cop before you were even born. I had to deal with men, on both sides of the law, treating me with condescension on a daily basis; I try not to do that to people, especially to women. I don't always succeed, and I'm sorry if I've made it more difficult for you to do your job. I'm too involved; if this was happening to a fellow officer, I'd be the first one to tell that person to back off."

"Captain, you have no reason to apologize. I appreciate your help, but I've been thinking, maybe it's time to get the Threat Management Unit involved."

Feeling as though a weight has been lifted off her, Sharon says, "I'm removing myself from the equation. There's a reason doctors shouldn't treat themselves, and lawyers shouldn't represent themselves. Detective Nelson, you do what you think is best."

"In that case, let me inform Captain Martinez, and then I'll arrange a meeting to get Threat Management up to speed. I want you to be in that meeting."

"Not a problem, just let me know when."

The detective is leaving Sharon's office when she almost runs into Lt. Tao who tells her, "You're going to want to hear this."

She follows him back into the Captain's office, and he tells both women that he has confirmed a delivery address with Dion's Pizza and two other restaurants. "It's 5512 West Olympic Boulevard unit 1110."

"That's right across the hall from me," Sharon says, "but that can't be. Mrs. Cooper has lived there alone since her husband died at least four years ago." She pauses for a minute to think about the last time she saw Mrs. Cooper. "I usually run into her when we are both getting our mail in the lobby, but it has been several weeks since I've seen her."

Tao holds up the promotional keychain found in the ignition of the abandoned vehicle and says, "One of these keys starts the car, one almost certainly is to your condo, Captain, and I'm sure the third key will open the door to unit 1110. There's one way to find out."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Lieutenant. We should obtain a search warrant to be on the safe side, and while we're waiting on the warrant, let's do a wellness check on Mrs. Cooper," says Nelson.

They look at Sharon for confirmation of the next step. "Right before you walked in here, Lieutenant, I told the detective it would be best for me to take a step back and allow her to take the lead; that's what I'm doing starting now."

"Oh…kay," Tao says looking at Sharon over the top of his glasses, "I'll get to work on the wellness check and the search warrant."

The three of them walk out of the Captain's office and into the Murder Room. Sharon instructs Sanchez and Sykes to assist Robbery-Homicide for the rest of the day.

"Captain, I'm headed to my department to update Captain Martinez, and to arrange a meeting with the Threat Management Unit. I'll let you know when we can meet," Nelson says.

Sharon returns to her office, and picks up her cell phone. She'd like to talk to Rusty, just to hear how he's doing, but he's in class so she sends him a text. She'd also like to hear Andy's voice, but she's not going to call and possibly wake him if he's resting. Her mind wanders back to early in the morning. She woke up around 5 a.m. and had to use the bathroom. When she got back in bed, Andy was asleep on his side, facing her. There was just enough light in the room for her to make out the silver stubble on his face. She had to restrain herself from touching it and waking him. He's handsome, but that's not the main reason she's attracted to him, it's more of a combination of things: the way his eyes turn soft when he looks at her; the way he kisses her as if her lips are drenched in forbidden wine; the way he openly wears his heart on his sleeve; the way he loves his kids and genuinely wants to be a part of their lives; the tender way he treats her; the sarcastic, goofy, intelligent sense of humor that sometimes gets him in trouble. These are the things she's thinking about when she drifts back to sleep, and these are the things she's thinking about in the middle of the afternoon in her office.

Almost exactly 24 hours ago, her life was running pretty smoothly with the exception of the still missing Phillip Stroh. Now, she is trying to track down a man she may, or may not, know who has been studying her intently in her own home for at least ten days, possibly from right across the hall; he's in possession of a gun, and he has threatened the life of the man she is falling in love with. She feels like she should be doing ten things at once. Instead, she's sitting behind her desk staring out at the Murder Room when she sees her housekeeper, Blanca Nolen, approaching her office accompanied by Detective Nelson. She immediately opens her appointment book, and realizes that today is the third Thursday of the month which means Blanca should be cleaning her condo right now. As the two women enter her office, she immediately notices that Blanca is visibly upset and trying not to cry.

"Blanca, what's happened? Why are you here?"

Before Blanca can answer, Detective Nelson says, "Your housekeeper was detained by Detective Monroe as she tried to enter your condo with a key this afternoon. He asked her about the key, and she said you gave it to her."

"That's right," Sharon replies while smiling at Blanca in an attempt to calm the woman down. "Blanca has worked for me since my children were small. I trust her implicitly."

Turning to Blanca, the detective says, "Go ahead, and tell her what you told Detective Monroe."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Sharon. The last time I cleaned for you, a man knocked on the door and told me he was a plumber. He said that you had called him to fix a leak in the dishwasher. I let him in, and he worked about 20 minutes before he told me that he needed a different piece of equipment, and he'd be gone for a little while. I didn't think anything about it. I just kept cleaning, and when he got back, almost an hour later, I let him in again. He worked another 20 minutes or so before he told me the leak was fixed and he left. I finished cleaning, and locked the door behind me when I left. I had no idea I'd done anything wrong until today when I tried to get into your condo to clean."

Looking at the detective, Sharon says, "I never called a plumber, and my dishwasher has never leaked."

"Please tell us what the plumber looked like," says Detective Nelson.

"He was probably in his mid-50s. I think he had brown hair, but he was wearing a ball cap so I'm not sure about the color of his hair, but it was short. I thought he was attractive, and kind of tall and thin. And, oh yeah, he was wearing tan coveralls and carrying a tool box."

The detective asks, "Was there writing or a logo on his cap or coveralls?"

"Yeah, I think there was something on the back of the coveralls, but I don't remember the words. I'm so sorry."

"Blanca, this is important. Did he have access to the key that I gave you?" asks Sharon.

Slowly shaking her head no, Blanca says, "I don't think so. I keep it in my purse while I'm cleaning."

"Where was your purse while the plumber was in the condo?" asks Detective Nelson.

"I always keep my purse on the dining room table," answers Blanca.

"Did you stay in the kitchen with him while he was working on the dishwasher?" asks the detective.

"No, I was dusting and vacuuming in the bedrooms."

"He could've taken the key, had a copy made when he left, and then put the key back in the purse when he returned," says the detective.

Sharon picks up the phone and calls Buzz to tell him to go to electronics. Hanging up the phone, Sharon says, "Blanca, I need you to watch some video, and then tell us if you recognize the man in the video."

The three women meet Buzz in electronics, and he plays the video of the man in coveralls wearing a backpack and baseball cap, walking towards the security camera with his head down. They all watch as the man stops in front of Sharon's condo, inserts a key in the lock, and lets himself in the door.

"Yes," Blanca says to Sharon. "That looks like the plumber, but when I saw him, he wasn't wearing a backpack. He was carrying a tool box. And, I remember when I was taking him to the kitchen, he asked me if I liked working for you. He seemed nice, and we talked for a few minutes. I told him that I'd worked for you for over 20 years. He thought your condo was beautiful, and he said something about you having very good taste. I left him alone in the kitchen after that."

"From now on, never let a stranger in my home when you're cleaning," Sharon says as she puts her arm around the distraught woman to console her.

"It will never happen again. I hope nothing is missing because of me," says Blanca. "That other detective told me you'd had an intruder in your condo, but that's all he would tell me."

"Don't worry about it," Sharon says, "just be very careful in the future. Never let anyone in my condo unless I've called and told you who to expect."

"Ms. Nolen, we need you to meet with our sketch artist. Please be as detailed as possible, so we'll have an accurate picture of the man you saw," says the detective. As the women are walking out of electronics, the detective's cell phone begins to buzz with an incoming text message. She stops to read the message; then she turns to Sharon to tell her that Captain Martinez needs to meet with them as soon as possible.

Leaving the housekeeper with the sketch artist, they immediately head to Robbery-Homicide. Captain Martinez quickly walks out of his office as soon as he spots them. "We've located Clinton Williams," he says.

"Where is he?" asks the detective.

"In the morgue," replies Martinez.


	12. Dead Men Don't Talk

The dead body in front of Dr. Morales can't talk; nevertheless, it's speaking volumes: telling him that death occurred in one place, and the body was discovered in another place, and a single gunshot, from very close range, is the cause of death. Ballistics analysis is underway on the bullet Dr. Morales dug out of the man's chest. The firearm discharge residue on both hands of the corpse indicates the man was touching the gun that killed him, or fired a gun himself. Time of death was approximately 24 hours ago, which means he was shot yesterday right around 4 p.m.

Pointing out delicate plastic surgery scars on the man's face and scalp, Dr. Morales tells Detective Nelson and Captain Raydor, "This man went to great lengths to disguise his identity." Indicating the dark brown hair covering the man's body, the doctor says, "The hair on his head has been dyed blonde. The eyeglasses found near his body contain clear lenses, not prescription lenses. I removed dark blue contacts from his brown eyes. Also, the man's badly scuffed shoes indicate that he was dragged, and the shoes are designed to make him appear several inches taller; when I removed his clothing, I discovered his suit is full of padding constructed to make him appear heavier." Holding up a leather wallet, the doctor says, "I found this in a hidden pouch in the lining of his suit jacket. It contains his driver's license, a credit card, and $438 cash."

Reaching for the wallet with her gloved hand, Sharon pulls out the driver's license and reads the pertinent information aloud: "Clinton Williams of 3425 Fletcher Avenue in Los Angeles. Date of Birth February 22, 1966. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, and is six feet, five inches tall and 220 pounds."

"I highly doubt any of that is true," says the doctor. "I can't confirm his name or address, and I can only approximate his date of birth, but his hair and eyes are brown. He's actually six feet, one inch tall and he weighs 188 pounds."

Glancing at the detective, Sharon says, "That's the name and address Connie Owens gave me. She also gave me the credit card number he used to pay her for the gift basket." Digging into the wallet, she pulls out the credit card to compare the number on it with the number she has written down in her notes. The numbers are the same.

"One of my colleagues is researching the name and address as we speak," says the detective as she steps closer, and leans down to observe the dead man's face. "We should know something soon. Captain, is it just me or does this man look like the blonde man who was walking down the hallway when the intruder and Andy fled your condo?"

"That's exactly what I was thinking, and the clothes appear to be the same," answers Sharon. "The man in the video has a limp in his right leg. Doctor, did you find anything wrong with this man's right leg?"

Indicating the long vertical scar on the right knee of the body, the doctor says, "He's had knee replacement surgery within the past three months. That's a little unusual for a man who doesn't appear to be over 50-years-old, but it could be due to an injury."

Sharon's phone buzzes with an incoming text message; she pulls the phone out of her pocket, swipes to the right, and silently reads the message from Rusty. He reassures her that he's fine. He plans to spend the rest of the afternoon on campus, in the library, then join a friend for pizza before returning to his dorm room. She smiles to herself while reading his text. Still holding her phone, it occurs to her to take some pictures of the dead body. She sends the pictures to Andy with a text message asking if he recognizes the man.

The doctor tells the two women that fingerprint analysis will be performed on the corpse, but it will take some time because the lab is backed up. "That's about all I can do for now," he says.

Exiting the morgue, and stripping the sterile gloves and gowns from their bodies, the women discuss the information Captain Martinez shared with them about the homeless man who discovered the body in an abandoned building. The man had sought shelter for the night, in the building, and was enjoying a pint of Duggan's gin he had stolen earlier in the day. Eventually, he passed out. Awakening this morning long after sunrise, he rolled over on the floor, and spotted a human hand sticking out from under a pile of rubble. The body attached to the hand didn't move when he poked it with his shoe. His instinct was to run, but he had enough sense to realize that people living on the streets knew he hung out in the building. He had no home, no money, and he was guilty of stealing, but he wasn't guilty of murder. He walked six blocks to the nearest police station and reported what he had discovered. At this moment, the homeless man is enjoying a ham and cheese sandwich and a hot cup of coffee while being detained by Robbery-Homicide.

The captain and detective head to the office of the sketch artist. Applying the final strokes to the sketch pad, the artist holds up the drawing of the plumber for them to see. Sharon stares at the man in the sketch; he is attractive with high cheekbones, full lips, prominent eyebrows, slight crow's feet at the corners of his light green eyes, and a five o'clock shadow that's more silver than brown. The artist has captured the image of a man who looks serious and intelligent. The faint wisp of a faraway memory stirs in Sharon's mind. Before she can focus on it, Blanca says, "Yes, that looks like the plumber. I'm not totally certain his eyes were green, but that looks like him."

Taking the sketch from the artist, the detective says, "This looks nothing like the dead man in the morgue who is supposedly Clinton Williams, so who is this man, and what does he have to do with the man in the morgue?"

Sharon doesn't say a word. She just looks at the detective, and shakes her head. Exhaustion has hit her hard. It's all she can do to remain on her feet and focused. She would like to be far, far away from here curled up in front of a fireplace with Andy at a Victorian bed and breakfast in the Napa Valley.

"You look tired," remarks Detective Nelson.

"I'd love to get out of here," Sharon replies, "but we still need to meet with Threat Management."

"I haven't even had the chance to set up a meeting. Let me call them, and see if it's possible to meet now."

While the detective makes the call, Sharon escorts Blanca to the elevator, and then sends a text to Tao asking about his progress. He replies back that he has started the procedure to obtain a search warrant, and he's on his way to perform a wellness check on Mrs. Cooper.

Nelson, still holding the sketch, approaches Sharon in the hallway and says, "Detective Molina in Threat Management can meet with us tomorrow morning." Both women head down the hall toward Robbery-Homicide; while walking, Nelson turns to Sharon and says, "I also talked to my colleague; he confirmed the abandoned vehicle found this morning is registered to Clinton Williams of 3425 Fletcher Avenue, but this is where it gets interesting. The Clinton Williams residing at that address is very much alive and well. Mr. Williams reported his stolen identity to the LAPD over two months ago. The abandoned vehicle doesn't belong to the real Clinton Williams, so I'm assuming the vehicle belonged to the dead man who stole Mr. Williams's identity."

"Well, hopefully we'll find out the dead man's true identity from his fingerprints," says Sharon.

"And, we still don't know the connection between the man in the morgue, and the intruder who posed as a plumber to gain entry to your condo," states the detective.

Entering Robbery-Homicide, Sharon is surprised to see Andy standing in the middle of a cluster of detectives, including Sykes and Sanchez, surrounded by boxes of old case files. He glances up, and meets her gaze. He can see how tired and worried she is in the depths of her eyes. Stepping forward, with a file in his right hand, he seems invigorated, and full of renewed energy. Thrusting the file at Sharon, he tells her he was at home trying to rest when a name and face hit him out of the blue. Opening the file, she's confronted with the mugshot of a man staring at the camera with a provocative look on his face. The corners of his full lips are turned up in a half smile, as if he is laughing at a joke that's not that funny. His mouth is partially open. His intelligent eyes radiate with arrogance. Her body tenses up just looking at the picture, and her mind is transported back over two decades. She's standing in the dimly-lit hallway of the house she shared with Jack. It's noisy because there's a party going on in the living room; she can hear music playing and people laughing and talking. She has just tucked her two children into bed. Quietly closing the bedroom door, she turns around to see a man approaching. She can't remember his name; he's one of the lawyers in the large firm where Jack works. He's standing too close to her. As she starts to move away, he reaches out with his palm and cups her cheek. "You have the most beautiful skin," he tells her. She's startled, and doesn't know what to say. "Thank you," she mumbles as she heads down the hallway back to the party. He's following her. She can feel his eyes on her. Entering the living room, she heads straight to Jack's side. He's on his third Crown and Coke and talking exuberantly to one of the senior partners. Everyone is in a great mood; celebrating a big win in court. Several times throughout the evening she catches her husband's coworker staring at her.

The mugshot she's holding in her hand is dated December 18, 1994. That was a memorable year, but not in a good way. Jack's drinking increased by the summer of '94, and his coworker called her multiple times, after the party, asking her to meet him for drinks and dinner. She never said a word about it to Jack. His behavior and his drinking was bad enough without that knowledge. In November of that year, Jack lost his job with the firm and was gambling heavily. She kicked him out of the house right before Thanksgiving. His fellow lawyer continued to call and ask her out. She always declined, and eventually he stopped calling.

Setting the mugshot on the nearest desk, Sharon says, "Detective Nelson, please give me the sketch you're holding." Nelson hands Sharon the sketch of the plumber; she places it on the desk next to the mugshot and they all stare. The man in the sketch is older, but it appears to be the same man. "Who is this?" Sharon asks.

"He's Mark Evans. I investigated him in the fall of 1994 on robbery charges," Andy says.

The minute Andy says the man's name, Sharon remembers how Mark Evans made her flesh crawl. She hadn't thought about him in years. "Was Mark Evans a lawyer?" she asks.

"Yes," Andy answers. "How did you know that?"

"Because he worked in the same firm with Jack. I knew him, but I just didn't remember his name."

"Mark Evans stole personal items, including hairbrushes, belonging to three women who all lived in the same building. He was arrested on a number of charges: rape, robbery, and stalking. He has been in San Quentin for the past 21 years," says Andy. "I have a call in to their administration to check his status, but I'm still waiting to hear back."

Sharon's phone rings. Looking at the screen, she sees that it's Lt. Tao and she answers.

"Captain, the search warrant came through, and I'm inside your neighbor's condo. You won't believe what I'm looking at," Tao says.


	13. A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

"This place looks just like my grandmother's house," quips Buzz. Andy shoots him an irritated look. There are clear plastic slipcovers on the twenty-five-year-old furniture. Dusty knick-knacks cover every surface, and there's several half-dead plants. The framed faces of half a dozen grandchildren smile at the Major Crimes team from the top of a crowded bookshelf full of Reader's Digest Condensed Books in the living room of unit #1110 at 5512 West Olympic Boulevard.

Andy's heart rate is starting to return to normal. He had no idea what to expect when entering the condo across the hall from Sharon's condo. Tao had been vague on the phone. The entire team tagged along, even Provenza who was anxious to get home and share the rare bottle of Sine Qua Non wine and dark chocolates with Patrice. Provenza figured he'd save the rest of the expensive items for gift giving occasions, or any time he found himself in hot water with her.

"I'm in the master bedroom," shouts Tao.

Leading the way down the hall, Sharon is first through the bedroom door. She stops in her tracks when she sees the pictures covering almost every inch of the wall opposite the bed. There's pictures of her wrapped in a towel, applying her makeup, taking her bra off, reading in bed, eating a sandwich, talking to Rusty, painting her toenails, brushing her hair, and napping on the couch. It's her life, and it's right in front of her in living color. The rest of the team enters the room; all conversation stops as each person realizes what's on the wall. Buzz lowers his video camera; he's too uncomfortable to continue filming. Andy steps up behind Sharon, and places his hands on her shoulders to offer support. There are so many pictures. She's dazed, and doesn't even know where to look. The picture right in front of where she's standing is of her and Andy; although, Andy's face is mostly obscured, buried in her neck which is tilted back causing her hair to flow away from her face. Her eyes are closed; her lips are plump, almost bruised looking and turned up at the corners in a lazy half smile. Both her arms are wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Andy's tongue is slightly visible, licking just above her clavicle. The fingers of his right hand wrap around and grasp the side of her neck. His left hand grazes her breast. She remembers how happy she was in the moment. Andy had gladly helped rearrange her living room furniture that afternoon. They had laughed and teased each other. It felt so good to be with a man who wanted to help her and spend time with her, instead of just arguing with her. She's still trying to get comfortable with the notion of having a man in her life who is on her side. All these thoughts flit through her mind while staring at the picture. She knows her team is standing behind her looking at intimate images of her, but she's unable to move. Andy squeezes her shoulders.

It's very quiet until Tao says, "When I got here, I rang the doorbell and banged on the door for at least five minutes, but no one answered, so I let myself in using a key from the key ring that was in the ignition of the abandoned vehicle. I did a quick search to make sure no one was hiding inside or on the balcony. Then I snooped around a little and found a lease agreement in the desk in the living room. Apparently, Mrs. Cooper has sublet this condo to someone named Clinton Williams for six months. That's not all I found. Follow me."

Tao leads the team into the dining room. There are a couple of laptop computers on the long, rectangular table, a pair of headphones plugged into one of the computers, a printer/scanner, two reams of printer paper, several ink cartridges, a notebook and a couple of pens, a manila folder, three flash drives still in the package, and a pizza box from Dion's Pizza. Opening the folder, Tao holds up a picture of Brenda Leigh Johnson. It's a head and shoulders photo that appeared, years ago, in the Los Angeles Police Beat newsletter. Provenza flips open the notebook; Brenda Leigh Johnson's name is scrawled across the first page. Under her name, LOCATION is written in bold lettering, followed by a question mark. There are several more pages of notes which Provenza reads aloud. The notes are mostly random phrases that pertain to Rusty, and several paragraphs, written in the same handwriting, vividly describing Sharon's hair. When Provenza realizes what he's reading, he closes his mouth and continues to read silently. The writer goes into great detail about how he's going to wash her hair for her, massaging her scalp with his strong fingers. Then he'll watch her hair dry as it falls onto her bare shoulders. When it's dry, he'll use her hairbrush to brush it out, then pin it up, leaving her shoulders, neck and back naked and exposed to his lips. Provenza cringes inwardly as he steals a glance at his captain who is not making eye contact.

Andy's cell phone rings, shattering the awkward silence in the room. He answers it, and walks into the kitchen to talk.

Tao says, "Captain, I'm betting the surveillance of your condo originated from this table. These computers are password protected, but with a little time we'll be able to access the hard drives. Also, it seems to me that the signature on the lease is not the same handwriting that's in the notebook which indicates at least two people are involved."

"That's correct, Lieutenant," confirms Sharon. "There are two people involved that we know of, and at least one of them is dead. He's the blonde man who was walking in the hallway yesterday when the intruder fled my condo followed by Andy. Identification found on his body states that he's Clinton Williams, but that's a stolen identity. We don't yet know his true identity. I'm pretty sure of the name of the other man who posed as a plumber to access my home. He is Mark Evans, and he spent over two decades in San Quentin for rape, robbery, and stalking. He's the one who attempted to run over Andy, and I feel sure he's the one responsible for all those pictures hanging in the bedroom. I knew him, barely, in 1994 when he worked as a lawyer in the same firm with my ex-husband."

"But what does Brenda Leigh Johnson have to do with it, or Rusty for that matter?" asks Provenza.

"I have absolutely no idea," Sharon answers wearily.

"It appears only one person is living here. There's one toothbrush, one razor, and one comb in the bathroom," states Sanchez.

"I've been through every room while I was waiting on you guys. Other than what you've already seen, there's really nothing else of interest," Tao says.

"I've got a couple of team members from Robbery-Homicide on their way here to dust for prints, and remove evidence," announces Detective Nelson. Turning to Sharon, Nelson says, "There will be a detective stationed outside 24/7 to make sure no one attempts to enter this condo or yours. You should call it a day. There's not much else we can do this evening, and we're scheduled to meet with Threat Management at 9 a.m. tomorrow. The same detective who tailed you last night will be on your detail tonight."

"Fine, I'll see you in the morning," Sharon tells the detective before walking into the kitchen to join Andy. Touching his shoulder lightly with her left hand, Sharon gets his attention as he's finishing the phone call. Andy turns to Sharon, and staring into her eyes he asks if she's okay.

"I could ask you the same thing," she says.

He has to resist the temptation to wrap her in his arms. "Well, our lives are certainly not boring," he says with a grin. "I just got off the phone with a supervisor at San Quentin." Reaching for her hand, Andy walks out of the kitchen with her. "Come on, Detective Nelson needs to hear this."

They join the others in the dining room, and Andy says, "Mark Evans was paroled from San Quentin 40 days ago." Holding his phone up for Sharon and the detective to see, he says, "They texted me his most recent picture and address. He's supposedly living with his sister in the Hollywood Hills."

Staring at the small screen, Detective Nelson says, "He definitely looks like the plumber to me. I'm going to pick up my partner, and we're going to pay him a little visit." Looking at Sharon, she says, "I'll let you know what I find out."

Turning to Andy, Sharon says, "Let me pack a bag, and then let's get out of here and get something to eat."

"That's the best idea I've heard all day," he says.

Following Sharon out of the neighbor's condo, Andy stays by her side when she walks across the hall and enters her front door. Stepping inside, the same feeling she had earlier in the morning hits her again. Her home doesn't feel like her home anymore. A strange man has been through her things, has studied her, and is still out there. A shiver runs through her. Instinctively, she wants to leave, but she needs some clothes and toiletries, so she gets busy gathering her things. Packing a small bag, she wonders how long she'll need to stay with Andy. It could be a few days, or a few weeks. Even with police protection, she doesn't want to be alone in her condo until this ordeal is over. She's comfortable with Andy; she feels safe with him. He has respected her need to take their relationship slowly. The not insignificant matter of where she will sleep simply hasn't been an issue. He has a two-bedroom house, but he uses the second bedroom as an office, so there's no bed in there. She shared his bed last night, and it wasn't a problem. Frankly, she enjoyed it. Years of sleeping alone made her super sensitive to his presence next to her, but once she started to relax she found it difficult to keep from touching him. Were it not for his injuries, she doubts she could resist the temptation to spoon with him. Just imagining his body flush against her, his arms surrounding her, his head near hers on the pillow makes her skin tingle, and her heart beat faster.

They pick up take-out food before heading to his house. The smell of Chinese dumplings makes her mouth water. She changes into casual clothes before joining him at the kitchen table. "I'm glad no surveillance equipment was found in your house," she says.

"Yeah, me too." Spooning rice on his plate, Andy is trying hard to suppress a chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking about the look on Provenza's face when he realized he was reading a sexy description of your hair, which, by the way, was very accurate."

Looking down at her plate, she pauses before glancing up and meeting his gaze. "This whole situation is so bizarre. One minute I'm mortified and the next I'm scared to death. Andy, Mark Evans is a violent man. He has sexually assaulted more than one woman, and he considers you to be a threat."

"I'm aware, and I feel horrible that I let him get away yesterday. I spent this afternoon thinking about retirement. I'm not a young man; I'm slower than I used to be, but I swear you're safe with me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We will catch this guy."

"I'm not doubting you. I just want this to be over." Picking up chopsticks, she digs into her meal, and changes the subject. Just the thought of Andy retiring is upsetting. She would miss him terribly, not just physically, but also his vast experience and knowledge. Just his presence often calms her, and helps her to think rationally. He's also an asset when dealing with loved ones of victims. What he brings to the table could never be matched by a younger man. Of course, she didn't always think so highly of him, but time has opened her eyes and her heart to the real Andy Flynn.

After dinner, they move into the living room. Sitting side by side on the couch, they talk about the dead man with the stolen identity. Andy is sure it's the same man he first saw in the lobby of Sharon's building, and then later ran past in the hallway as he chased the intruder out of her condo.

"I can't figure out what connects the two men, and why would a man I barely knew over twenty years ago be stalking me now?"

"Maybe there's more to it than that," suggests Andy.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Mark Evans is definitely obsessed with you, but what was all that other stuff about Chief Johnson and Rusty?" asks Andy.

Shaking her head, she says, "I don't know." Struggling to keep her eyes open, she stifles a big yawn. It's still early in the evening, but she's exhausted. When he notices how tired she is, he suggests they head to bed. His bruised and battered body aches, and he just wants to stretch out.

Sharon changes into her nightgown in the bathroom then scrubs her face and brushes her teeth. She's not normally nervous when alone with Andy, but oddly she's nervous now, and this makes her fidgety. Walking out of the bathroom, she sits on the edge of the bed, and arranges her things on the nightstand. There's her glass of water which she has to have even though she only takes a sip or two. Next to the water is a paperback book she has been trying to read for weeks; she hasn't even made it through the first chapter because she always falls asleep. Her phone is also on the nightstand because it's not unusual for it to ring in the middle of the night. She checks to make sure it's fully charged; as she puts it back down, she accidentally tips over the glass of water which prompts her to jump up off the bed and head to the bathroom for a towel. Snatching a towel off the hook above the countertop, she manages to get it tangled in the soap dish which hits the floor and shatters in a dozen pieces. Rushing out of the bathroom, she runs straight into Andy, almost knocking him down and elbowing his bruised rib. He doubles over in pain. "Shit," is the only word that comes out of her mouth. She doesn't know what to do first; wipe up the water before her phone gets wet or comfort Andy, so she tries to do both. He's confused, and not sure what's going on, but he's aware that Sharon is upset. She's starting to cry. Letting go of Andy, she crosses over to the nightstand to clean up the mess. Watching her for a few seconds, he realizes that she's losing it. The past two days have taken a toll. She has been so strong, but now she's starting to crack.

"Let me do that," he says as he takes the towel out of her hand. She sits on the side of the bed, and watches him clean with tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I made a mess in the bathroom too," she says.

He just grins at her, and heads to the bathroom. She can hear him picking up the broken pieces and tossing them in the trash. That's followed by the sounds of him brushing his teeth. When he's finished, he takes his clothes off and tosses them in the dirty clothes hamper. Then he removes his dark green robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door, and puts it on before walking back into the bedroom. Heading to the bed, he sits beside her. Using his uninjured right arm, he draws her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. She looks up at him with tears shining in her eyes and says, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replies. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It has been a rough couple of days."

"You can say that again."

He brushes the tears off her left cheek with his index finger. She's staring in his dark eyes. A wave of tenderness washes over her, and she lightly plants her lips on his. It's meant to be a simple kiss. She doesn't want to injure him again; however, it quickly turns into something deeper and more complex. He shifts closer to her, and deepens the kiss. She doesn't seem to know what to do with her hands. He doesn't have that problem. His hands are moving all over her body: in her hair, on her neck, her back, her breasts. The silky nightgown is thin. He can feel her nipples grow hard in the palms of both his hands. He pushes her neckline down as far as it will go. Pulling his mouth away from hers, he lowers his head to put his mouth on her left breast. He gently nips and sucks the pebbled flesh between his lips while she buries her hands in his hair. Increasing the pressure with his mouth makes her moan, and throw her head back. The sounds she's making fill the room, and mix with the sound of her phone ringing. It rings four times before they're conscious of it. He moves his head away. She reaches for the phone on the nightstand just as it stops ringing. They're both breathing heavily.

"That was probably Detective Nelson," he says. "You should call her back."

Adjusting her nightgown, she says, "Yeah, but I need a minute."

Before the words leave her mouth, the phone starts ringing again. Still slightly out of breath, she answers it.

"Captain, is everything okay?" asks the detective.

"Yes," Sharon answers. "What did you find out about Mark Evans?"

"He's not living with his sister. She told me he got a job and moved out a month ago, and she hasn't seen or talked to him since. She claims she doesn't know or care where he's working or living. I'm going to talk to his probation officer in the morning to see if I can find out more details. I also issued an APB on him a few minutes ago."

Sharon is listening to the detective, but she's distracted by Andy shifting on the bed next to her. He's considering taking a cold shower, but standing up and walking out of the room would be a little difficult at the moment.

"Captain, are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. You did a great job today. Try to get some rest tonight, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks. You get some rest too. Good night."

Resting isn't exactly what's on her mind as she puts the phone down on the nightstand and turns to Andy.


	14. Hold the Phone

"Mark Evans is not living with his sister. She has no idea where he is," says Sharon.

Reaching for her hands, and covering them with his own, he says, "Damn. I was afraid that was going to be the case."

"Detective Nelson has issued an APB, and she'll talk to his PO in the morning." Sharon glances down at their entwined hands. The room is very quiet. She's not sure what to do or say. Before the phone rang she was drowning in a flood of feelings; physically and mentally carried away on a current of desire. The sensations he was creating with his hands, lips, tongue and teeth were overwhelming. After years of self-imposed sexual deprivation, she has no idea what the appropriate response is now. Do they pick up where they left off? Do they start all over? Do they just forget about it and go to sleep?

Andy supplies the answer by rotating both her hands with the palms up on the bed between them. "Sharon, look at me." Slowly bringing her right wrist to his lips, he deposits a soft kiss on the pulse point. He does the same thing with her left wrist. His lips barely graze the sensitive skin covering an intricate network of veins and fragile bones. He thinks of her as fragile, like the ethereal wings of a butterfly. She is fragile to him, but not weak. He knows she's breakable, and he's being very careful not to do that. His eyes never leave hers.

The sudden sound of his raspy voice in the stillness of the moment, combined with his moist mouth on her skin and the intense look in his eyes leaves her feeling woozy. Before her phone rang, he was making love to her in an almost desperate, frantic way. Now, he's not so much making love to her as worshiping her. He finally breaks eye contact, and she exhales. She wasn't even aware of holding her breath. He's ghosting the tip of his index finger from her wrist to the crook of her arm and back. They are clothed; yet, this feels profoundly more intimate to her than any physical contact they've shared to this point in their relationship.

Leaning in to whisper in her ear, he says, "I don't think you understand what you do to me. I think about you all the time. When I eat breakfast, I wonder what you're eating. In the shower, I imagine you standing under the water with me. Driving to work, I listen to the music you like. When I'm trying to fall asleep at night, I picture you underneath me with your hair spread out on the pillow."

She closes her eyes, and absorbs his words through her ears, her skin, her heart. His voice makes her feel like she's floating. It's the same weightless feathery feeling she had the night she cooked for him and drank too much wine. That night she was warm, happy and very sleepy, just like now. She hasn't had a drop of alcohol, but she could curl up like a cat with a huge smile on her face, and drift off to sleep in his arms without hesitation.

"I'm obsessed with you," he says. "Does that make me the same as Mark Evans?"

Furrowing her brow, she opens her eyes and studies his face. "Are you serious? Why would you think that?"

"Because it's true. Sharon, I love you."

"That's the difference. Mark Evans doesn't love me. He doesn't even know me. If you love someone, you don't scare them. You don't play games with them. He's a sick, violent man, and we have to put him back in prison."

"And we will," Andy says before rising, walking to the other side of the bed, and removing his robe. Pulling back the covers, he slides in with a grimace on his face. His bruised rib is aching and he needs to stretch out. Patting the empty spot next to him, he says, "Come here."

Sharon carefully aligns herself along his right side with her head resting in the crook of his neck; his arm cradling her. They continue talking quietly for a few minutes before Sharon's eyes drift shut, and they both fall asleep in that position. Seven hours later, Provenza wakes them for the second time in as many mornings with a phone call. Before Andy can even say hello, Provenza says, "Wake up sleepyhead. We caught a case, and I'm on my way to pick you up."

Sharon's presence is not necessary at the crime scene in Bel-Air; she goes back to sleep. Shortly before seven, her phone rings as she's preparing to head to work. A police officer she's vaguely familiar with informs her that Jenise Patterson, a charge nurse at Cedars-Sinai, would like for her to call the hospital as soon as possible. Her mind immediately goes into panic mode, and she starts firing questions at the officer, "Is something wrong? Is it my son? Is he in the hospital?" Before the officer on the other end of the phone can answer, it occurs to her that Andy could be the one in trouble.

"Captain, the nurse would not divulge any information to me due to HIPAA regulations. All I have is the phone number she gave me."

After hanging up with the police officer, Sharon immediately calls Cedars-Sinai to talk to Jenise Patterson. The nurse tells her that Jackson Raydor was admitted through the ER at approximately 6 a.m. with a wound in his upper torso. He had experienced heavy blood loss. Before losing consciousness, he told her to call his wife, Captain Sharon Raydor with the LAPD.

"I called as soon as I had the chance, Captain. Your husband is going to be fine, but there's a chance he may lose some mobility in his left arm. The wound appears to be from a gunshot. The bullet grazed his upper arm. He lost a significant amount of blood, and the wound was already infected when he came in through the ER. He was alone, and had no ID or insurance card on him. He was mostly unresponsive. We weren't able to get any information out of him about what happened. Doctor Rosen sedated him, cleaned up the wound, and started him on antibiotics. He's in room 933."

"Actually, he's my ex-husband, but I'll be there as soon as possible," Sharon says before hanging up. _What have you done now, Jackson?_ She thinks to herself that it could be any number of issues: gambling money owed to the wrong people, a jealous boyfriend or husband, or a client he has hustled. This is really all she needs with everything else that's going on. She sends Andy a quick text message explaining that she's going to Cedars-Sinai to check on Jack, and then she calls the detective who is tailing her to tell him they have to go to the hospital. If she's lucky, she can get this done, and still make her meeting with Threat Management.

The sights, sounds and very particular smell of the hospital flood her senses the second she walks through the double doors. She has really had enough of hospitals lately. She's not squeamish, but she tenses up, not knowing what to expect. Why is she here? Why does she allow him to keep pulling her back into his messes? They have two great kids. Ricky and Emily are the reasons she's here. They are the reasons she will never be able to totally turn her back on him. She knows her police detail is walking discreetly behind her. Stopping just outside room 933, she opens the door and peers inside the gloom. The curtains are closed. All lights are turned off, but one. The bathroom door is open, and the light is on. She doesn't go in. She just observes the double room. There's no one in the bed closest to the door, but she can see the shape of his legs under the sheet in the bed near the windows. There's a screen set up between the beds. Sharon can see a couple of legs, clad in scrubs, beneath the screen. She closes the door, and watches the detective, assigned to escort her, approach her in the hallway. He walks up to her side at the same time as a young nurse aide walks out of the room. The aide looks at the man and woman standing just outside the door, and says, "Please only one visitor at a time, and don't stay too long. He's sleeping, and needs to rest." When the aide walks away, Sharon tells the detective to wait for her outside the door. "I shouldn't be long," she says.

Jack is lying on his right side, facing the windows. A sheet and blanket is pulled up over him. His head is half buried under a pillow. Rounding the foot of the bed, Sharon glances at the IV pole next to the privacy screen. Her eyes trace the clear plastic tubing running from the IV bag and into his left arm beneath the covers. It's very still and peaceful in the darkened room; yet, she can hear the hustle and bustle in the hallway; people are talking as they walk by the room; a woman moans in the room next door; a doctor is being paged over the intercom. Leaning in, she touches his left shoulder and says, "Jack." Everything happens quickly: he opens his eyes, his right hand shoots out from under the pillow and encircles her right wrist which is resting on his shoulder, his left hand emerges from the covers wielding a scalpel. A startled sound escapes the back of her throat. He says, "Don't make another sound or I will hurt you."

Sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed, Mark Evans tightens his grip on her. "Give me your gun," he says. When she hesitates, he is up off the bed and looming over her with the scalpel poised at her throat. "I said give me your gun."

Moving as little as possible, and never taking her eyes off him, she carefully reaches inside her blazer with her left hand, snaps open the holster, withdraws the gun, and holds it out to him. "I'm going to let go of your arm, and you're going to give me the gun or this scalpel is going in your throat."

With the scalpel in one hand and the gun in the other, he moves behind her. Poking the gun hard in her back, he says, "Bring me that IV pole, and don't even think about doing anything else. I will shoot you; I have nothing to lose."

She slowly walks to the other side of the bed, and reaches for the pole. She can't see him behind her. It crosses her mind to attempt escape, but she's terrified. Her mind is still processing what has happened. She grips the pole, turns around and wheels it closer to him. He's now on the same side of the bed with her, facing her. "That's far enough," he says. "Let go of the pole and turn around." He sticks the gun in her back again. Briefly, she can feel his body pressed against her side and his breath on her face, as he leans into her, pushing her up against the screen and telling her to put her hands on it. Backing away from her, he says, "Don't move a muscle." Setting the gun on the nightstand, he raises the scalpel and slices through the tubing a few inches above where it enters his left arm. Setting the scalpel down, he retrieves the gun from the nightstand, and tells her to get his clothes out of the cupboard and put them on the bed.

Wildly looking around, she spots the cupboard in the corner of the room, and walks over to it. His shirt was cut off him in the ER, so only his pants and shoes are there. She places the items on the bed and backs away. He tells her to turn, walk back to the cupboard and put her hands on it. It's awkward, but he manages to hold the gun on her while putting his pants on and tucking the hospital gown in with his uninjured arm. Sliding his loafers on, he picks up the sling sitting on the nightstand, drapes it over his left shoulder, rests his injured arm inside it, and tucks the scalpel in the sling. Less than five minutes has passed since she entered the room.

No longer tethered to the IV pole, and in possession of two weapons, his plan is working much better than he anticipated. His arm hurts like hell, but he figures it's a small price to pay. Walking over to her, he thrusts the gun in the back of her head and tells her to walk towards the door. The detective, tasked with her protection, chooses this moment to knock softly and enter the room to check on her. Not expecting to see anything other than Captain Raydor comforting her injured ex-husband, the detective is shocked to see her approaching him with wide eyes.


	15. It's Just Another Day

"Why the hell won't the captain answer her phone?" Provenza asks Flynn.

"How should I know? She's probably busy."

Rolling his eyes, and heaving a huge sigh, Provenza tells Flynn to call her. "Maybe she'll pick up if she knows it's you."

Looking at his phone, Andy notices he has received a text from Sharon. After reading the message, he informs Provenza that his supervisor is checking on her ex-husband who is in the hospital, and he's not going to call and bother her right now. Before Provenza can argue further, Sanchez interrupts the bickering to let them know the press has shown up demanding answers.

"Well, I want some answers too," Provenza says. "How come I still have to pay wife number three's alimony, and how come the Dodgers haven't won the World Series in damn near 30 years? Andy just shakes his head, and Sanchez suppresses a laugh as he walks away to help Sykes search for bullet casings from the shooting of their latest victim. They're in the backyard of a McMansion owned by a wealthy, prominent plastic surgeon to the stars. His dead body, full of bullet holes, was discovered in the pool house in the middle of the night by his fourth wife.

The sun is up now, and it's already getting uncomfortable outside forcing Provenza to wear his hat.

"When are you going to throw that thing away, and get a new hat?" asks Andy.

"When are you going to stop asking me stupid questions?" answers Provenza.

It's just a typical day for them.

Captain Sharon Raydor can't say the same. She wouldn't normally start the day with a gun planted in the back of her head. All activity in the hospital room stops while her phone rings inside the pocket of her blazer. The detective, who had just entered the room when her phone started ringing, is shocked to see the man he believes to be Jack Raydor up out of bed and walking to the door. The detective can see the man, but he can't see the gun the man is holding. Taking a step towards the couple, and reading the look on Sharon's face, it registers with the detective that something is wrong. Really wrong. He asks, "Captain, what's going on?"

Mark Evans snarls, "Do not say a word, either one of you." Shoving Sharon forward, she stumbles into the detective who clumsily catches her. Turning to face her attacker, her blood runs cold at the look of pure evil in his eyes. Evans says, "Damn baby, this one is young. I thought you went for old guys." The detective takes his hands off Sharon and starts to protest, but Evans shuts him down by staring him straight in the eyes, and shaking his head from side-to-side. "Do exactly as I tell you, and you just might make it out of here alive. Both of you put your arms up in the air, walk into the bathroom and stand in the shower. Don't turn around, and keep your arms up or you're dead." Sharon glances up at the detective as she's raising her arms. They briefly lock eyes before Evans says, "Move."

She moves toward the bathroom on shaky legs, slightly ahead of the detective. She's praying someone, a nurse, doctor or housekeeping, will walk in the door to create a distraction. Entering the bathroom, and stepping into the shower with the detective close on her heels, she hears Evans say, "Put your hands up on the wall." They comply as he silently slides the gun in his pocket, retrieves the scalpel from his sling, and uses it to cut the string hanging off the call button next to the toilet. The detective looks down at Sharon and makes eye contact. He's mouthing something to her, and staring intensely into her eyes. She shakes her head, and hopes he understands not to try anything. As soon as Evans disables the call button, he slides the scalpel into his left pocket, pushes the sling out of his way, and takes the gun out of his right pocket. Using his injured arm, he steps forward and pats the detective down. Evans has no idea who the man actually is, but he's taking no chances. He's not at all surprised to find a gun strapped behind the man's back under his suit jacket. He figured the guy was a cop when he addressed Sharon by her rank. Taking the gun off the detective, he sets it on the toilet, and then reaches in the detective's pocket for his cell phone. Putting the phone into his own back pocket, he then slowly slides his hand over Sharon's hips searching for her phone in the pocket of her blazer. Relieving her of her phone, he then picks the detective's gun up off the toilet, and pushes it down into his right, front pocket. He's now in possession of two guns and two cell phones.

Evans presses the front of his body against Sharon's back. Sticking the gun into her right side, he glides the palm of his left hand through her hair and whispers in her ear, "Don't you move, beautiful. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you give me a reason." Stepping back, he moves the gun away from her and pokes the barrel into the detective's back. "Young man, get out of the shower, and get on your stomach on the floor, then put your hands behind your back." Evans backs up a few feet, and points his left index finger to indicate the spot on the floor where he wants the detective to be. With the gun aimed at him, the detective turns around with his hands still in the air, steps out of the shower, and gets on the floor underneath the towel rack. The detective is tall, and takes up most of the available floor space in the small bathroom. Evans walks backwards until he is just outside the bathroom door. He glances quickly to the nightstand, a few feet to his left, where he knows there's a small, plastic bin full of medical tape, gauze, and Ace bandages. He also takes note of a small puddle forming on the floor where the antibiotic is continuing to drip out of the sliced IV tube. Returning his gaze to the two in the bathroom he figures he can grab the plastic bin using his left hand, and get back into the bathroom in about six seconds. It's not going to be easy; he'll have to avoid the puddle, and he doesn't want to leave the cops alone that long, but he has no choice. He goes for it. Sharon hears him move away. Without hesitation and acting on pure adrenaline, she turns and steps out of the shower, almost tripping over the detective who is getting up off the floor. When she looks up at the open bathroom door, she's horrified to see Evans is back with the gun in his right hand pointed at her, and the plastic bin in his left. She is frozen in place, staring at the gun.

Using his foot, Evans pushes the detective back down on the floor. Thrusting the bin at Sharon, he says, "Get busy. Tape his mouth shut. Then use the rest of that stuff to tie his hands to his feet behind his back. I'm watching you; do a good job, and do it quickly. We have to get out of here; we have a busy day ahead of us."

She is terrified; she's fumbling with the bandages and tape. Evans just stares at her from a few feet away, and continues to hold the gun on her while her mind races. She's relieved that he appears to be sparing the life of her colleague; however, he has made it clear that she will be his hostage. Never taking his eyes off her, he crouches down near the toilet; using his left hand, he picks up the two feet of string he cut off the call button, and hands it to her, saying, "Start with this. Use it to tie his hands together; tie it tight."

 _Focus. I have to focus_ ; she thinks to herself. Taking a deep breath, she takes the string from Evans and gets to work. Underneath all the bandages, gauze, and tape in the bottom of the bin, she thinks she feels a small pair of scissors with her fingers. She's careful to keep the object concealed from him as she follows his demands. He's staring at her, and not paying much attention to the plastic bin. It seems to her that an hour has passed; however, it's only been a few minutes when she uses the last of the supplies. There's nothing left in the bin but a bit of tape, and the scissors she has concealed under the gauze. She has tied the detective's hands together behind his back with a crazy combination of string, surgical tape, and bandages. His feet are bent back at his knees, and tied to his hands with another Ace bandage. Evans stands up, and tells her to get up. She palms the scissors as she stands. The detective makes eye contact with her one more time before she leaves him bound and gagged on the bathroom floor. Before exiting the bathroom, Evans locks the door from the inside.

 _This is almost too easy_ ; Evans thinks to himself. He has spent the previous hours, before heading to the ER, meticulously planning every detail even though he was in a great deal of pain after the altercation with his former partner. _Damn, he didn't want to kill the guy, but he was forced to defend himself._ It was kill or be killed. He knew he needed medical attention after he dumped his partner's body in that dirty, decrepit abandoned building. His wound was becoming infected and swallowing a handful of Aspirin just wasn't cutting the pain. What he hadn't counted on was Sharon bringing back-up to the hospital with her to visit her supposedly injured ex-husband.

With a scalpel in his pocket, a gun in his other pocket, and another gun pointing at Sharon, but hidden in the sling, he tells her, "We're going to take a little stroll down the hall to the elevator. We're not going to walk fast. I'm still recovering, and you, my loving wife, are helping me so you are going to keep your arm around me. Just look at me; don't make eye contact or talk with anyone else. We are going down to the first floor in the elevator, and then we are going to walk right out to the parking lot. I have several weapons; I'll hurt you, and a lot of other people if you don't cooperate. Now, let's get going."

The hallway is empty when they step out of the room. The nurse's station is behind them; the elevator is about 20 yards in front of them. Sharon almost recoils at the thought of touching him, but she swallows the acid rising in her throat and puts her left arm around his waist. He places his right arm tightly around her waist under her blazer, and digs the barrel of the gun into her left side. He nuzzles his lips in her ear and says, "You are doing great. Just walk casually to the elevator; you'll be fine. I don't want to hurt you. I have big plans for us."

She feels his lips brush the shell of her ear, and it's all she can do not to turn her head away. They start walking to the elevator, and her heart is beating rapidly. Her mind is blank; she's moving like a robot. She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to leave with this man. She doesn't know what to do, so she just walks until another patient steps out of a doorway right in front of them.

"Good morning," the elderly man says.

"Good morning," Evans answers back.

"Do you know when they serve breakfast around here?" asks the old man.

"No idea," Evans says as he continues down the hall.

The old man just keeps talking. Sharon can hear him say something about how good bacon would taste right now. They are almost to the elevator when it opens, and a man carrying a huge bouquet of flowers steps out. He almost runs into them, but continues walking down the hall without a word. The elevator doors close just as they approach. Evans leans into Sharon, and says, "Push the down arrow." She leans forward to touch the button and he stays molded to her side. The doors re-open immediately; they step inside; it's empty. He says, "Push the button for the first floor." She does it and the elevator starts to move. He leans into her again, and brushes his lips back and forth on the spot just below her left ear. Drawing a deep breath, he says, "You smell good. I can't wait to get you home. We have twenty years of catching up to do." She can feel his fingers stroking her waist. Her breathing is shallow. She's sure her face must be white as a ghost, and she feels like she could faint.

The elevator stops on the fifth floor. Sharon swallows hard as the doors open. A young mother, and her two-year-old girl get on. The mother just looks straight ahead, but the little girl turns and stares at the couple who are standing slightly behind her. The elevator starts to move again; the little girl begins to whine. "It's okay, honey," says the mom as she strokes the girl's hair. The elevator stops again on the second floor. A large family gets on, paying no attention to the other occupants in the cramped space. They are all talking loudly, pretty much at the same time. "Uncle Phil looked good, didn't you think?" "He could lose a few pounds." "His doctor said they got all the cancer, this time." Evans looks at Sharon and smirks. The elevator reaches the ground floor and everybody exits. Evans hangs back with Sharon for a few seconds; he digs the gun into her side a little harder just to remind her not to try anything stupid. They get off the elevator and cross the lobby to the hospital entrance.

Detective Nelson sits across from Detective Molina in the office of Threat Management. He has offered her a cup of coffee twice while they wait for Captain Raydor, and she has declined twice. They've made small talk for ten minutes, and the captain still hasn't made an appearance or called. "Let me just give her a quick call," Nelson says as she takes her phone out of her pocket and scrolls to the correct number.

Evans and Sharon are halfway across the lobby when her phone rings in his pocket. "Just keep walking," he says.

Flynn walks to the front yard of the McMansion to help Tao get rid of the media. Provenza takes the opportunity to call the captain once more. He'd like to inform her about their latest case.

Reaching the double doors of the hospital entrance, Sharon's phone rings again. "Damn, you are one popular lady," says Evans.


	16. Walking on Sunshine

Speaking into her cell phone with a touch of frustration in her voice, she says, "This is Detective Nelson. I'm with Detective Molina, and we're waiting to meet with you in Threat Management. Captain, please call or text me, and let me know if you are on your way." After leaving the message, she places her cell phone on the desk where it's visible. "We should just go ahead and get started without the captain; I'm sure she'll be here soon. You may have heard the rumors floating around about what happened to Lt. Flynn two days ago." She studies the man's face for a reaction, but his face remains impassive. "I need to get you up to speed because this case has turned into much more than a simple robbery and attempted homicide." Reaching into the briefcase on the floor by her side, she picks up a thick file, and hands it to Detective Molina. "Here's all the information we have on a man named Mark Evans. Two days ago, Lt. Andy Flynn was attacked in Captain Sharon Raydor's condo in the middle of the afternoon. We believe Mark Evans is the man who attacked the lieutenant, and he has been stalking the captain."

"What were the men doing in her condo?" asks Molina.

"Lt. Flynn stopped by the condo to do a favor for the captain's son. The boy needed some paperwork for college; the captain was busy at work, so Flynn went to her condo to retrieve the paperwork. He expected the place to be empty, but he heard a noise in the master bedroom, and went to investigate. Mark Evans was hiding in the closet; when Flynn looked in the closet, he was jumped by Evans who hit him in the head with one of the captain's shoes, and then punched him in the stomach before running out of the condo.

"The attacker used a shoe from the closet and his fist?"

"That's correct. He was apparently unarmed at that point," Nelson answers.

"What do you mean at that point?"

"Well, Flynn pursued him out to the parking garage where Evans attempted to run him down with his vehicle. They actually fought in the vehicle, and Evans took Flynn's gun off him before throwing Flynn from the vehicle and driving away. Flynn sustained some injuries and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening at the hospital."

"Why was Evans in the condo?"

"Robbery was our initial thought, and that's correct, but there's a lot more to it than that," answers Nelson. As Detective Molina opens his mouth to ask another question, Nelson's phone rings. "That's probably the captain now," Nelson says while reaching for her phone. Frowning at the unfamiliar number on the screen, she answers and has a brief conversation with Lt. Provenza, "No, the captain is not with me. She is supposed to be, but she's running late."

Provenza replies, "She had to go to Cedars-Sinai to check on her ex-husband, who was admitted early this morning, but I've called her a couple of times and she hasn't responded. Please have her call me when you hear from her."

"Yes, I certainly will," she responds before hanging up.

"We can meet later today if you need time to locate her," states Molina.

"No, she's probably just running late. We should continue our briefing. It's vital for Threat Management to get involved. We really need your help. The more I learn about Mark Evans, the more he scares me."

Captain Sharon Raydor is also scared. As she steps out of the hospital with Evans, she loosens her grip around his waist. This provokes him to hold her even tighter, and place his mouth close to her left ear. "Sharon, my angel, don't do anything stupid. Keep your arm around me; just act natural or you'll be the first of many victims this morning. I don't even need to use a gun; I have a scalpel; your death will be swift and silent if you don't cooperate." Walking under the portico, they pass a dozen people entering the hospital. She looks at each person they pass; some spare her a quick glance, but most are lost in their own world. They have problems of their own; some are entering the hospital as a patient; some are visiting a sick friend or family member. None of them suspect the pair walking away from the entrance is anything but what they appear to be: a loving couple walking arm-in-arm to the parking garage.

Inside the hospital, the detective, tied up on the floor in the bathroom of Room 933, is resting his muscles and vocal chords for just a minute. He has fought against his restraints until he has rubbed skin and hair off his arms and legs. Screaming with a mouth full of gauze, and his mouth taped shut has proven ineffective. He has no idea a nurse has entered the room to hang a new IV bag. She slips and almost falls in the puddle of clear IV fluid on the floor; looking down she sees the plastic tubing has been cut, and is no longer attached to the patient. Looking at the empty bed, she is puzzled. The patient's chart is located on a clip hanging off the end of the bed; she looks at the chart to find the patient's name. "Mr. Raydor, are you in there?" she asks while knocking on the bathroom door. She can hear noise prompting her to open the door, but it's locked. There's definitely noise and the sound of someone struggling in the bathroom, so she hurries out of the room to find a key.

Evans and Sharon head to the far end of the parking garage. She knows the odds of getting out of this mess unharmed go down with every step she takes. Evans constantly scans the area for people; there's nothing but cars, and a trash can that's attached to a concrete pillar. He tells her to stick her hand under the trash can, and get his keys. She just stares at him; he repeats himself, and she complies. She stoops down next to the trash can, and sticks her right hand under it; it's sticky; she can't locate the keys. "More to the right," he says. Moving her hand to the right, she feels the keys; scooping them up, she stands and shakily holds them out. He takes them from her with his right hand, keeping the gun, hidden in the sling, trained on her. They walk twenty more feet to a black Cadillac CTS parked with the nose of the car pointing out of the space. She noticed a few security cameras when they entered the parking structure; however, there doesn't seem to be any cameras in the immediate vicinity of them at the moment. _That's probably why he chose this space,_ she thinks to herself. Squeezing between the Cadillac, and the car parked next to it with Sharon in front of him, they walk to the rear of the vehicle. _I have to do something, I have to do something_ is the mantra playing over and over in her head, but she can feel the barrel of the gun digging into her back, and the thought of the scalpel glinting in the sunlight turns her stomach. Evans pops the trunk using the key fob. She dreads what's going to happen next: being confined in a small, dark space is one of her biggest fears.

Ray Campos is enjoying his second cup of coffee when he realizes he's being paged to the ninth floor, stat. As physical plant manager, he has never heard his name paged in the three years he has been employed at Cedars-Sinai. There's too many people waiting for the elevators; he decides to take the stairs, two at a time. By the seventh floor, he realizes he made a mistake. He's sucking wind and hasn't moved for four minutes.

The detective can't move. He's on his stomach wedged between the toilet and the wall, wondering why it's taking so damn long to open the bathroom door.

Captain Sharon Raydor can wiggle her fingers and feet, but that's it. In under a minute, Evans forced her into the trunk; he had her hands and feet bound together, and her mouth gagged and taped shut using supplies he'd stowed in the trunk. She is now stowed in the trunk, curled up in a ball, lying on her side with her head resting on the pillow he provided because, as he told her before closing the trunk on her, "I don't want you to be unduly uncomfortable."

As each minute ticks by, Detective Nelson grows more uneasy during the briefing with Detective Molina. She checks her phone often to see if the captain has responded to her message. She has supplied every piece of information she has to Molina. He's studying the computer generated note found in the backpack, and the note written on papyrus that was attached to the gift basket. It is our destiny is the last sentence of both notes. As he's pondering the significance of that sentence, Nelson picks up her phone to call the captain one more time.

Ray Campos finally makes it to the ninth floor nurse's station where a small crowd has gathered. There's a couple of nurses, a housekeeper, and even a few patients standing around gawking at the noise and confusion. "Sorry it took me so long to get here. What's going on?" he asks.

One of the nurses says, "Follow me." She explains as they make their way down the hall that the patient in Room 933 is not able to communicate or unlock the bathroom door. "I can't locate the key," she says as they enter the room. Campos fingers the set of master keys attached to his belt, and approaches the bathroom door. It takes him a couple of tries, but he finally unlocks the door. He and the nurse can't believe what they see. She reacts quickly, and begins searching for the scissors in the plastic bin near the detective's head. The scissors aren't in the bin where she left them earlier. She rushes back to the nurse's station to retrieve another pair.

Mark Evans is in no real rush; he buckles up, puts his sunglasses on, and turns up the radio before pulling out of the parking space. "Walking on Sunshine" is playing on the 80s station, and that's one of his favorite songs. He sings along at the top of his voice, " _I'm walking on sunshine, and don't it feel good_." _Yep_ , he thinks, _it feels damn good. Today just might be the best day of my life._ He pulls up to the small booth located at the exit ramp of the parking garage. All he has to do is pay the parking attendant, and be on his way. He lowers his window, reaches into the center console, picks up the ticket, and hands it to the attendant. A few seconds pass, and the attendant says, "That'll be five dollars." They complete the transaction. The attendant says, "Have a nice day." Evans just looks at the man in the booth and gives him a big smile before driving away.


	17. Come On Down

"Freddy Tipton, COME ON DOWN! You're the next contestant on The Price is Right." Squinting at the small screen, Jack Raydor is nursing a tiny headache, but he's up and thinking about getting ready for the day. He doesn't have to meet his one, and only, client in court for another two hours, so he has time to watch the Showcase Showdown before he has to leave the crummy, rent by the week, furnished apartment he's currently calling home. Sipping a bit of the hair-of-the-dog that bit him last night, he's trying not to move around too much when he hears someone banging on the front door, and shouting his name. Before he can make himself move off the stained couch, the front door is kicked in, and two uniformed cops enter followed by his favorite person in the whole world, Andy Flynn.

Lunging at Jack, Andy shouts, "Where is she?"

Moving quickly to avoid Andy, Jack spills Bloody Mary down the front of the grubby t-shirt he's wearing. The two cops pull Andy off Jack; Andy's face is contorted; his fists are clenched.

Jack says, "What the hell are you talking about?" The other men in the tiny room essentially ignore him.

"It's okay; I'm good; just find her," Andy says to the cops who finally let go of him. Glaring at Jack, Andy says, "I swear to God if you've hurt Sharon, I'll kill you."

"Why would I hurt Sharon?" asks Jack.

"Why did you take her from the hospital at gunpoint this morning?"

Jack replies, "I'm going to ask you one more time; what the hell are you talking about?"

One of the cops says, "An LAPD detective saw you abduct your ex-wife at gunpoint this morning at Cedars-Sinai."

The bedroom door opens; all the men turn and stare as a woman, wrapped in a dingy sheet, stumbles into the living room. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she says, "Jack, what's going on?"

He replies, "That's what I'd like to know."

Some of the tension and anger in Andy starts to fade as he eyeballs the woman with long, auburn hair, and a sleepy look on her face. _Jack definitely has a type_ ; Andy thinks to himself. The woman looks like a slightly younger version of Sharon, but not as smart, delicate, graceful, or formidable.

"Gentlemen, I just got out of bed with Gina. I've been nowhere near Cedars-Sinai hospital this morning."

"Is that true?" Andy asks Sharon's look-alike.

"Yes," Gina answers.

"We're going to have a look around before we just take your word for it," says the cop who was the first through the front door two minutes ago.

While the two cops search the small apartment, Jack studies Andy's face, and asks him, "Why was she at the hospital?"

"Supposedly visiting you," Andy answers with a sneer. "I haven't seen her since I left her early this morning to go to a crime scene; she texted me to let me know she was going to the hospital to check on you." Andy doesn't have to actually say the words for Jack to understand that Andy is telling him he hasn't seen Sharon since he got out of bed with her early this morning.

With a look of genuine concern on his face, Jack is about to ask another question when Gina begins to whine about needing coffee and cab fare. Jack just rolls his eyes, and continues to stare at Andy as Gina makes her way to the tiny kitchen. It's hard for Jack to come to grips with the fact that Sharon is with Andy. In his heart of hearts, Jack always believed Sharon would be there for him no matter what; no matter how much booze he drank; no matter how much money he gambled away; no matter how many lies he told; no matter how many women he took to bed. She put up with him for years, and got so little in return; he always felt guilt and shame, but not to the degree that he was willing to change for her. Gina, and all the women like her, don't need or want him to change. All they need or want is a good time, and Jack can most certainly provide a good time until the money, and booze, runs out. For purely selfish reasons, Jack will always love Sharon; this prompts him to poke a pudgy finger in Andy's chest and tell him, "You better find her."

Andy would love to plant his fist in Jack's face, but that wouldn't help Sharon, and finding her is the priority. Earlier this morning, amidst all the confusion, Andy was incredulous upon hearing that Jack had kidnapped Sharon at gunpoint. He knew Jack was capable of despicable behavior; however, Andy really didn't believe that Jack was capable of such violence. He expressed that opinion multiple times; nevertheless, law enforcement had to check out the wild story told by the detective on the bathroom floor in Room 933 of Cedars-Sinai.

It's obvious to Andy that Jack has nothing to do with Sharon's disappearance. "Come on guys; we're wasting our time; let's get out of here," he says to the two cops before stepping through the battered front door, and heading to his vehicle.

Over the sound of the TV, Jack hollers, "Hey, who's going to pay to fix my door?"

"Not my problem," Andy yells back without turning around.

Driving away from Jack's apartment, it hits Andy that his nightmare from two nights ago is actually happening. In his sleep, he had spent hours trying to find Sharon to no avail. He had emerged from the nightmare covered in sweat and full of anxiety until he realized that Sharon was spooned against him in the dark with his front attached to her back. His arm was draped possessively in the deep curve created in her torso as she lay on her side. He slid the tips of his fingers from the swell of her hip down into the valley, and back up the alluring slope of her shoulder until his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, and his anxiety melted away. She sighed softly in her sleep. She was safe; she was in his arms where no harm could come to her. That was his last coherent thought before he'd drifted back to sleep. It makes him shudder now to think that he's living his nightmare in real life. He's a practical man; he doesn't believe in premonitions, but it seems as if his subconscious mind was warning him.

Curled on her side in the trunk, Sharon is trying hard to keep track of which direction she is being driven, and how long she has been tied up in the dark. If she can focus her thinking; she can keep the panic at bay, but the longer she's in the claustrophobic space, the more her mind wanders. She has lost track of all the turns the car has made; she has lost track of the time. Has she been in the trunk 15 minutes or two hours? She has no idea. To calm herself, she pictures Emily at dance rehearsal; Ricky working at his new company, and Rusty sitting in class. Thinking about her happy, successful children fills her with a sense of purpose. She has to stay alive for them, and for Andy. She can almost feel his arm around her; feel the stubble on his chin rubbing against her forehead as his voice lulls her to sleep in bed, but she's not in bed. She's being held captive in a small, enclosed space, and she's remembering how she felt when Andy told her that he loved her right before he left for work. She was only semi-conscious; right on the brink of falling back asleep when Andy emerged from the bathroom, smelling like soap, and minty toothpaste. He leaned in, and ghosted his lips across hers before whispering, "I love you." She didn't speak or open her eyes for fear of breaking the spell. It almost felt like a dream, but it was very real. Now, she's wishing she had said the same words to him before he walked out of the bedroom to go to the crime scene.

Mark Evans is driving slowly and carefully through the streets of LA. He doesn't want to get pulled over for exceeding the speed limit, or not using his turn signal. He hates that Sharon isn't in the front seat with him; he has so much to tell her, but it will just have to wait a little bit longer. They will arrive at their first destination soon enough. He has waited over two decades for her; he can certainly wait a few more minutes. Two decades in prison has taught him infinite patience. The first few years were rough, but eventually he trained his mind and disciplined his body to such a degree he became a feared and respected member of the prison hierarchy. Truth be told, he thrived behind bars in a way he never did as a free man. The very qualities that made him a pariah in society, made him a king in prison. The fact that he used his considerable brain, and knowledge of the law, to help his fellow inmates meant that he did easy time. He even managed to make friends with many of the prison staff by providing free legal and financial advice to them.

He was a very successful failure, and when he was introduced to his new cellmate towards the end of his prison term, his life only got better. He hadn't even realized how lonely and starved for intellectual companionship he was until the lanky man, destined to become his best friend, shuffled into the cell, and proceeded to tell him, in great detail, exactly how he ended up behind bars. His new best friend/cellmate kept him awake their first night locked in the same space together by divulging intimate details of the sexual assaults he'd committed. Mark Evans was elated. He'd finally found a kindred spirit, and they had so much in common. They'd both been lawyers in their former lives, and they even knew some of the same movers and shakers in Los Angeles. Of course, his new cellmate was much better connected; the man loved to drop names, and upon hearing him utter the name of Sharon Raydor, Evans actually thought he might faint. His pulse and respiration rates increased; he broke out in a sweat on his upper lip, and as he listened to his friend describe the last encounter he'd had with the woman of his dreams, he felt himself growing hard for the first time in a very long time.

Lt. Provenza is still clutching the phone with a stunned look on his face when Tao walks by his desk and asks him what's wrong.

"You're not going to believe this," answers Provenza, "but I just found out the identity of the dead man in the morgue."

"You mean the man with the limp who went to great lengths to disguise his identity," replies Tao.

"That's the one," says Provenza. "He's Phillip Stroh, and he was shot with Flynn's gun."


	18. Happy Accident

Provenza is upset and worried about the captain, and, if possible, he's even more upset and worried about Andy Flynn. In all the years Provenza has known Flynn, he has never seen him this agitated, not even the time Flynn initially refused to attend his own daughter's wedding before the captain rescued him. Flynn's face is getting redder and redder, and his voice is growing louder and louder on the phone with an official from San Quentin.

Flynn shouts into the phone, "Why the hell didn't you tell me that yesterday?" Furiously scribbling on a notepad, Flynn glances up to see Provenza staring at him. He gestures for the older man to come closer, and points down at the notepad on his desk. Leaning in, Provenza reads: Mark Evans and Phillip Stroh were cellmates.

Grabbing a marker, Provenza approaches the Murder Board, and adds this latest bit of information to the small amount of facts already written there. Hanging up the phone, Flynn joins Provenza at the board, and stares at the artist's rendering of Mark Evans hanging next to the photo of Evans supplied by the prison. Flynn sticks his hands in his pockets, and takes slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. Provenza says, "Well, at least now we know the connection between Stroh and Evans." Flynn doesn't even acknowledge the statement. He just flexes his jaw, and switches his gaze to the prison picture. Staring into the cold, dead eyes of the sociopath who has abducted the woman he loves; he can do nothing, but curl his hands into fists in his pockets.

Sharon is also staring at a picture. It's in an elaborate wooden frame surrounded by several other framed pictures atop the nightstand next to the bed she's sitting on. She can hear Evans opening drawers in the bathroom until he finds what he's looking for in the third drawer. Picking up the small scissors from the drawer, he cuts the hospital ID band from his wrist, and tosses it in the bathroom trash. Next, he hunts for Band-Aids which he finds in the medicine cabinet. Sitting on the toilet, he carefully removes the IV line still embedded in his skin, tosses it in the trash, and applies a Band-Aid to the bloody puncture site. Reaching back into the drawer, he grabs a tube of lotion and heads into the bedroom. Sharon doesn't look at him; she continues to stare at the picture as he sits next to her on the bed. Releasing her from the cuffs, he gently rubs lotion into the marks on her wrists. He apologizes for cuffing her arms together too tightly in the trunk. She's not focused on his words; she's focused on the picture. Evans stops rubbing her skin, and turns away from her to get a better look at the picture that has her mesmerized. Her hands are free; he's distracted; she reaches in her pocket for the scissors, and wraps her fingers around the metal.

Detectives Nelson and Molina approach the two men standing at the Murder Board. Flynn moves out of the way, and points at the newest piece of information Provenza just wrote on the board. Nelson reads the sentence out loud and says, "Are you kidding me?"

Flynn responds with, "I wish I was."

Nelson looks from Molina to the two men standing by the Murder Board and asks, "Do you know each other?"

Sticking his hand out to shake Molina's hand, Provenza says, "Yes, I worked a case with you several years ago."

Molina shakes Provenza's hand, and turns to Flynn with his hand out. Andy's not paying any attention; he's studying the Murder Board intently. Provenza clears his throat. Andy realizes he has zoned out, and finally shakes the man's hand. Molina is familiar with Provenza, but he doesn't know Andy Flynn; he only knows the gossip he has overheard.

Evans turns back to Sharon just as she removes her hand from her pocket. He reaches for her wrist, and begins rubbing again. She refuses to make eye contact; she will not let him see the fear in her face. Her hand is clenched in a fist; she's holding her breath, and shaking slightly. Cupping her chin, Evans forces her to look at him. Staring in her eyes, he says, "Baby, I'm not going to hurt you as long as you do exactly as I say; just relax." Moving his hand off her face, he clutches her fisted hand. She relaxes her fist, and takes a deep breath. The scissors are still in her pocket. She desperately wants to stick them in his carotid artery, but she knows she has to wait for the right moment when she'll be able to run. Her feet are bound together and cuffed to the bed.

Evans releases her hand, and reaches for the picture on the nightstand. Showing it to her, he says, "I know you recognize my buddy. He was one hell of a guy, and a brilliant lawyer; I hated to kill him, but we wanted different things. He was so mad at me for getting caught in your condo. Of course, he was already mad at me for not following the plan and eliminating the kid and the blonde. I never gave a damn about either one of them. You're the one I've always wanted."

"Stroh is dead?" Sharon asks with confusion in her voice and on her face.

"He sure is. I killed him; you'll never have to worry about him again; I got it done. I didn't want to, but he was just too dangerous. I stalled him as long as I could, but he was out of patience, and I knew he would kill me, eventually. Now, he's out of our lives; you can stop worrying about him, and we can have some fun."

Her mind is working furiously to process what she's just learned. She hears him talking, but she's having a hard time processing all the words. Wondering if Evans is delusional or truly crazy, she continues to stare at the picture of Stroh standing between an attractive, older man and woman; there are three other people in the background; everyone is posing with champagne flutes in their hands, and big smiles on their faces. She doesn't say a word as Evans drones on. "The house we're in belongs to this couple," he says as he points to the man and woman on either side of Stroh in the picture. "I don't remember their names; they are venture capitalists; they spend a lot of their time in Europe, so they let Stroh stay here because he got their guilty daughter exonerated on a murder charge. He always bragged about the influential people who owed him favors. When I first met him, I didn't really believe all his big talk, but I do now. You wouldn't believe the kind of access he had. I saw it with my own eyes. He had plenty of money, and even guns; of course, he'd never give me a gun; that's why I had to take the gun off your boyfriend. Getting caught in your condo turned out to be a happy accident."

Sharon's detective instinct is urging her to keep him talking, she asks, "How did you kill him?"

Setting the picture on the nightstand, he turns back to her. Stroking her hair, he says, "I'm tired of talking about him." Moving his hand from her hair to the side of her face, he says, "I'll never forget the first time I saw you. Well, it wasn't really you. It was a picture of you that Jack kept on his desk. My God, you took my breath away. Your hair was up, and you were wearing an emerald green dress. Your smile was so shy; your eyes spoke to me in that picture. The minute I saw you; I knew I had to have you. I couldn't believe you were married to such a loser. I stole that picture off Jack's desk about a month later. I don't think he ever even noticed. Do you remember talking to me during the party at your house?" Sharon doesn't answer him; she remains still, and refuses to look him in the eye. He's not really focused on her at the moment. He's lost in his thoughts, his memories; he doesn't wait for her response; he just keeps talking and stroking her. "You're going to love the surprise I have for you." She can feel his breath on the side of her face; he leans in, picks up her hand, and brushes her palm with his fingers. She can hear him breathing heavier. He places her palm on his crotch, and uses his hand to manipulate her small hand. She is nonresponsive. "Come on, baby. You know what I want." He grinds himself into her hand and moans. Time seems to stop for Sharon, just like when she was in the trunk. Several seconds go by. She can hear a dog barking in the distance, and a car drive by. He's moving his lower body, and pressing her hand down. He puts his mouth on hers; she calmly turns her head away. He grips her hand harder, and says, "You know what to do; I've watched you with your boyfriend." She's as limp as a rag doll, so is he; flaccid, and completely frustrated with her lack of response. In his fantasies, he's imagined many different scenarios, but not this. He would prefer she be more like the others: scared, crying, pleading, and trying to fight him off. That's what he wants; that's what he needs, but there's no time right now. They need to leave before the cops finally figure out where they are. He never really believed he'd get this far in his plan.

Brushing her hand away with annoyance, he says, "Well, we can't sit here talking all day. We've got a long drive ahead of us." He moves off the bed, and roughly cuffs her hands together once again. Pointing at a suitcase near the door, he says, "I've already packed for us. I wanted to include some of your favorite outfits, but your boyfriend messed that up when he cornered me in your closet. It doesn't really matter though because I bought new things for you to wear while we're gone." Grabbing the suitcase, he says, "I'll be right back to help you to the car," before walking out the bedroom door.

Commander Taylor enters the room, and approaches the four detectives clustered near the Murder Board. Addressing Detective Nelson, Taylor says, "I just spoke with your supervisor; he's agreed to take on the murder case of the plastic surgeon to the stars, so Major Crimes can focus on finding Captain Raydor. He's assigned you to continue working with them and the Threat Management Unit."

Nelson nods her head, and asks, "Has anyone obtained security footage from the hospital?"

"Follow me," Provenza says as he leads the way to the Electronics Room.

Tao is studying the footage when they enter. Evans and Captain Raydor can be seen walking between a white SUV, and a black Cadillac; they disappear for several minutes, then the Cadillac emerges from the parking space driving away from the camera. Due to the dim lighting in the garage, it's hard to get a clear image of the license plate; however, there doesn't appear to be enough letters and numbers.

"What kind of license plate is that?" asks Nelson.

Tao attempts to zoom in on the image, but it's still hard to decipher. The room is very quiet as everyone stares at the screen. Suddenly, Tao shouts, "I've got it." A startled Provenza rolls his eyes. "That's a California State Senate plate," Tao says. "The S is for senate; the number is for the district, and that small r means retired. That Cadillac belongs to a retired state senator from the 24th district."

"Get on it, Tao, and let me know the minute you find out the name and address associated with that vehicle," Provenza says as he's walking out of electronics with Nelson hot on his heels.

Evans walks into the double-car garage carrying the suitcase. Walking past the black Cadillac, he heads straight for the Mercedes SUV, and stows the suitcase in the back. That's when he notices the license plates for the first time. "Shit," he yells. There are special state senate plates on both cars. He had been in too much pain earlier this morning to care about or pay attention to the license plates, and it's too late to do anything about it now. They need to get the hell out of Los Angeles, fast.

Andy's at his desk on the phone when Provenza and Nelson walk back into the Murder Room. Sykes looks up from the laptop she's sitting behind and says, "That's Rusty on the phone with Flynn. He's looking for his mom."

Andy is playing it cool with Rusty. He doesn't let on that there's anything wrong. Rusty just wants to say hi, and let Sharon know that he aced the big test in his communications class. Andy assures him that he'll pass the message on to Sharon when she's not busy. Hanging up the phone with a sheepish look on his face, he joins Sykes at her desk where she and Buzz are busy looking for evidence on the laptops seized yesterday in the condo Evans was using in his surveillance efforts.

Detective Molina is still talking to Commander Taylor; Nelson joins their conversation. Sanchez announces that he's going to Robbery-Homicide to get them up to speed on the murder of the plastic surgeon.

"Julio, before you go, I need to tell everyone that we may have just caught a big break," says Provenza. All eyes are on him as he proceeds to tell them about the special license plates.

"Why are we standing around? Let's get going," Andy says.

Traffic is flowing nicely as the Mercedes merges onto Interstate 5. Evans quickly glances over his right shoulder at Sharon lying across the backseat. He can see her face; he can't see her body under the blanket he tucked around her after he bound her hands and feet together. He'd much prefer her to be sitting in the front seat next to him talking, laughing, and planning where to stop for lunch, but he can't drive and hold a gun on her at the same time. At least she's not in the trunk; he thinks to himself. "I know you must be getting hungry," he says to her. "I want to get out of the city; then we'll stop and get some food. What sounds good?" She doesn't say a word. "I know you like Italian food," he says. "I'll keep an eye out for an Italian place."

The front door flies off its hinges the third time Fritz Howard uses the battering ram to breach the residence of retired California State Senator Craig Cope, and his wife, Lydia. Once inside, the silence is deafening, punctuated only by the sound of Andy shouting for Sharon.


	19. Now or Never

Sharon Raydor is not hungry; she's scared and angry. The bite of pizza she's trying to swallow is stuck in her throat. It feels like she's trying to swallow cardboard, and Mark Evans is urging her to eat more. They're sitting in the backseat of the Mercedes, parked at a rest stop just outside of Bakersfield. Evans takes a bite, chews, swallows, and stares at her. "I need to ask you something," he says. "What do you see in that guy?"

She knows he's asking about Andy. This is a game she isn't going to play; she just stares straight ahead.

"I'm serious, I really want to know," Evans says. "For that matter, I'd also like to know why you didn't kick Jackson Raydor to the curb decades ago, and don't say it was because of your kids because that's a bullshit excuse."

She can't hold her tongue. Piercing him with her eyes, she says, "Enough. Just because you've inserted yourself into my life doesn't make it any of your damn business, and you are in serious trouble."

"Tell me something I don't know, lady. I'm not stupid, but apparently you are. We could've been amazing together, but you wouldn't give me the time of day. You stayed with that jackass, and I want to know why."

She shakes her head and stares straight ahead. She knows better than to interact with him, but her emotions got away with her for a few seconds. Trying to calm down, she tries not to gag as she feels the bile rise in the back of her throat. The pizza hits her already nervous, upset stomach; sweat breaks out on her forehead; her stomach cramps; she feels like she could throw up.

LAPD detectives swarm the expansive home and property of Craig and Lydia Cope. It's pristine. Nothing appears to be out of place until Detective Sykes notices the bedspread in the master bedroom is slightly rumpled, and there's a tube of lotion on the nightstand. She leans in to look at the lotion, and notices the picture of Stroh. Moving into the hallway, she shouts for her colleagues to join her in the master bedroom, and then she pokes her head in the master bathroom for a look around. The first thing she notices is an open box of Band-Aids on the counter. She also notes a couple of items in the bottom of the almost empty trashcan. Before she has time to examine the trash, Flynn, Provenza, Howard, and Nelson enter the bedroom and she joins them.

"I'm going to be sick," Sharon says.

Evans reaches for the sack atop the console between the two front seats. He quickly removes two bottles of water, some condiments and napkins, and holds the empty sack to her face. "Use this," he says. She brings her cuffed hands up to hold the bottom of the sack. He gathers her hair using his injured arm, and holds it away from her face. She closes her eyes and concentrates on her breathing, willing herself to not be sick. Taking several deep breaths, she can feel her stomach start to settle; she lowers the sack to her lap, and lets it fall to the floor.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks. She doesn't answer.

He unscrews the top off one of the bottles of water, and puts it in her hand. "Don't drink too much," he tells her. She takes a long swig and swallows. He removes the water from her hand, and uses it to wet the napkins. It feels good as the moisture hits her sweaty forehead, and she briefly closes her eyes as he tenderly wipes her skin. His face is so close to hers; he's staring at her wet lips. She opens her eyes as he leans in and swipes his tongue across her mouth. She brings her cuffed hands up between their bodies, and shoves him away. He slaps her hard across the cheek.

"Dammit, why won't you let me love you?" he screams.

Flynn picks up the small trashcan, reaches inside with a gloved hand, and retrieves the discarded hospital ID band that reads: Jackson Raydor. "The scumbag was here," he announces.

"Well, he's not here now," Nelson replies. "We've been all over this property. There's no one here."

Shoving the trashcan down hard on the floor, Flynn says with disgust, "So, we're back at square one."

"Maybe not," Nelson says.

Sharon's cheek stings, and her eyes fill with tears, but she will not meet his eyes or speak to him. It doesn't matter. He has finally provoked a response from her, and his body is starting to respond. He's turned on. He stares at her breasts; she's breathing hard; her chest is rising and falling rapidly. His eyes slowly move up to her face; a single tear runs down her injured cheek. They make eye contact; he can see the fear she's trying so hard to hide. He smiles sweetly at her. Holding her cuffed hands down, he leans in and licks the tear off her face.

"Evans is taking her to a B&B in the Napa Valley just like he said he would," Nelson proclaims while walking back into the bedroom with Flynn.

"That's right," Flynn says. "He said that to the lady who delivered all those expensive gifts. Let's get back to the office and work that angle."

Sykes, standing next to Howard, and examining the photo of Stroh with the older couple, says, "Wait a minute; look at this," as she hands the picture of Stroh to Flynn. Provenza is examining the other pictures on the nightstand. There's two pictures of an attractive blonde woman, and a picture of the couple standing in a vineyard at sunset. Provenza takes the vineyard photo out of the frame and looks at the back of the picture. It's marked: C H Winery, Summer of 2013. He does the same with the pictures of the blonde woman. Both pictures are marked: Theresa, 2014. Flynn turns the Stroh picture over in his hand. It's marked: Theresa's celebration party, Fall 2009. He hands the picture to Howard who stares at the man who caused so much suffering for his wife, and others.

With one hand holding her hands down, and the other hand holding her face still, Evans attacks Sharon's lips with his mouth. Her jaws are locked together; refusing access to his tongue. She whimpers, and tries to fight him off, but this only arouses him more. She's absolutely going to be sick, and she's frantic; she has no idea how he'll react if she throws up. They are both surprised to hear the sound of a car. He quickly moves off her, forces her down in the seat, binds her hands to her feet, and covers her with the blanket. He waits for the approaching car to pass, opens the door, and gets out of the Mercedes. He watches the other car park next to the restrooms. Digging in his pocket for the keys, he opens the driver's side door, gets in, buckles up, starts the engine and drives away.

The afternoon is giving way to the evening; very little progress has been made in locating Captain Sharon Raydor, but it's not due to lack of effort. In a massive coordinated plan of attack involving multiple departments, and the assistance of law enforcement in the Napa Valley, every B&B in the valley has been canvassed to no avail. Also, every entry point into the valley is being monitored for the Mercedes. The team is now concentrating on locating contact information for the Copes in Europe. That's proving to be as elusive as finding Theresa. She's had numerous husbands, last names and addresses.

Flynn, pouring his third cup of coffee in the break room, is taking his frustration out on the cabinet door when Provenza reaches out to touch his shoulder. "Hey, we're going to find her," Provenza reassures his friend.

"Yeah, but will we be in time?"

Provenza doesn't respond or look Flynn in the eyes. He understands the implication of what Flynn is saying. It may already be too late.

Heading to electronics, the pair join Detective Molina and Buzz as they review video found on one of the laptops that was being used by Evans for surveillance purposes. Evans recorded himself, perhaps inadvertently, prowling around in the captain's condo on the afternoon Andy surprised him. Evans can be seen picking up her pillow from the bed, holding it to his face, and breathing deeply. Every man in electronics cringes at the sight, but the footage only gets worse. He goes to her dresser, and paws through her lingerie until he finds a pair of black, lacy panties and matching bra which he examines carefully before stuffing into the backpack he's carrying. He then walks out of camera range, and into the bathroom. This is the point at which he took her brush off the counter, and her nightgown and robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Walking back into her bedroom, he opens all the drawers in the nightstand located next to the side of the bed she sleeps on. He appears to be searching for something in particular.

"I suspect he's looking for objects of a sexual nature," Molina says. Provenza glances at Flynn who is shaking his head with a disgusted look on his face. "You know things like vibrators, sex toys …"

Interrupting before Molina can continue, Provenza says, "Yeah, yeah we get it."

"Oh, I'm sorry," replies Molina. "I'm not trying to be insensitive, it's just that this is classic stalker behavior."

On the video, Evans pulls out a handful of envelopes, sits down on the bed, and opens the envelope on top. Andy recognizes the card that Evans is sliding out of the envelope. He recognizes it because he gave it to Sharon over a year ago. He remembers the day as if it were yesterday. She'd had a bad day, and he'd gone out after work to buy her a funny card to cheer her up. They'd had one of their non-dates that night. He gave her the card at dinner; it made her laugh so hard she choked a little on her wine. Of course, that had made her laugh even harder. The way her eyes would shine in those unguarded moments made him indescribably happy. Whether he acknowledged it or not, he already knew deep down at that point that she meant the world to him. He continued to give her cards every now and then. It was their thing, and she had obviously kept each one. Evans reads a couple more until he hears the front door of the condo open. He suddenly jumps off the bed, shoves the cards back in the drawer, and darts across the room and into the closet. A few minutes goes by, and Andy can be seen walking into the bedroom. Approaching the half-open closet door, he draws his gun, yanks the door completely open, and peers in. That's when Evans hits him in the head with a high heel, punches him in the gut, and runs out of the room, through the condo, and out the front door.

Other than one uneventful stop for gas, Evans has been driving for hours. Eventually growing tired of the sound of his own voice, he turned on the '80s station. Sharon has no feeling in her arms and legs. She's certain she won't be able to walk when they finally stop and get out of the car. She has tried to remain alert and vigilant, but as the hours ticked by her mind wandered. At one point she even felt as if she might fall asleep, but she forced herself to stay awake and as alert as possible. Her cheek hurts; it's throbbing, and she really needs to go to the bathroom. She's just about to open her mouth to ask Evans to stop at a bathroom when she feels the car slowing down.

Turning to the second laptop, Buzz says, "Guys, there's one other thing you need to see." He pulls up a website for C H Winery. "This website was in the search history multiple times."

"Isn't that the name of the winery written on the back of that picture we found in the Cope's house?" asks Flynn.

"That's right," answers Provenza. "Buzz, is there any useful information on the website?"

Buzz points to the computer screen and says, "There's the address and phone number."

They all look at the address: 485 Cope Hill Road in Liberty, California.

"Cope Hill Road," Flynn says. "I wonder if Cope Hill Road has anything to do with Craig and Lydia Cope," states Flynn.

"There's one way to find out," says Provenza.

Sharon's legs give out underneath her, and she sinks to the ground next to the Mercedes. Her hands are still cuffed; she awkwardly tries to catch herself before falling, but she hits her head on the door of the car. Evans drops the handle of the suitcase, and scoops her up off the floor of the garage. He carries her inside the house, sets her on the couch, and, once again, binds her hands and feet together before going back to the garage. From the couch she can look out the huge picture window to see the sun setting over a magnificent vineyard that slopes elegantly down a small hill.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Evans asks as he enters the room wheeling the suitcase behind him.

"Where are we?"

"We're in the Napa Valley. This is your surprise," he says. "Well, technically the valley is about 15 miles from here, but close enough."

"I need to go to the bathroom," she says.

"No problem, sweetie. Just give me a minute," he replies. Setting the suitcase down near the couch, he unzips it, and pulls out an emerald green dress. Carefully unfolding it, he shakes the wrinkles out, and carries it with him as he searches for a bathroom in the house he's never been in before. He locates a small powder room under the staircase, flicks the light on, and leaves the dress on the counter. Walking back into the living room, he picks her up off the couch, and carries her to the powder room. Setting her on the closed lid of the toilet, he removes her shoes, but leaves her feet cuffed together, and then frees her hands. "After you go to the bathroom, I'll help you put your new dress on." Stepping back a few feet, he leans against the wall and stares at her.

"You're not staying in here," she says.

"Yes, I am, so don't get any ideas. Besides, I like watching you," he says with a grin.

Her heart sinks at the realization that he's not going to leave her alone.

"Don't take long," he says. "We've got better things to do."

She shakily stands up, and states that she no longer has to go. Sliding her hands into her pockets, she takes a deep breath, summons up some courage, and figures it's now or never.


	20. Only the Lonely

Evans takes three steps toward Sharon; using his left hand, he grips her chin forcing her to look him in the eyes. What she sees there is terrifying because she sees nothing. Looking in his eyes reminds her of staring in the dead eyes of Stroh's corpse. There's no life there; no feeling; no empathy; no humanness. He sees the exact opposite in her eyes. There's too much; too much defiance; too much anger; too much intelligence. He can't let his guard down for one second because he knows how smart and capable she is; she's no damsel in distress; she's not waiting on her knight in shining armor to show up.

"Is this what you're looking for?" he asks as he raises the small scissors up to her face. "I found these on the ground next to the car in the garage. They're not mine; I assume they belong to you." She can feel the sharp end of the scissors grazing her injured cheek. "I've told you before; you have beautiful skin," he says. "It would be such a shame to ruin your lovely face."

He chuckles, and languidly trails the sharp end of the scissors down her neck, her chest, between her breasts and down to her waist. She gasps, removes her hands from her pockets and says, "Don't do this." Gently placing her hands on his biceps, her eyes never leave his as she tells him that he can end this whole thing right now. "You're never going to get away with this. I know it, and you know it. Don't make this worse than it already is for you."

Grasping the button holding her blazer together, he cuts it, letting the button fall to the floor. Her blazer hangs open exposing the blue tank top underneath. Starting at the bottom of the tank top, he methodically cuts straight up the middle of the blue fabric. With a twisted smirk on his face, he asks, "Do you honestly think I give a damn about what happens to me?" Holding her breath; standing still as a statue; she can do nothing but look down and watch as the scissors approach her face.

Hanging up the phone in disgust, Provenza watches Flynn awkwardly pace back and forth in front of his desk. Provenza rolls his eyes in exasperation, and picks up the phone to try again. While the phone is ringing, he tells Flynn, "Mitch, the assistant to the assistant of C H Winery, is having a bad day. He says he's busy with customers, and doesn't have time to answer my questions. The little shit actually told me to call him back in an hour before he hung up on me."

"What the hell? We have to do something," Flynn replies. He's full of nervous energy, but with his injuries, movement isn't so easy.

"I am doing something; I'm calling him back," says Provenza.

"We can't just stand around here all night. Let's notify the police in Liberty."

Hanging up the phone after the fifth ring, Provenza says, "Flynn, about 700 people live in Liberty, California. Do you think their police department, if they even have a police department, will have any idea how to handle this?" Not waiting for an answer, he continues, "I really don't think Barney Fife will be capable of finding the captain."

"I have an idea," Flynn says. "Let's go talk to Howard."

Stepping back a bit to admire his handiwork, Evans' eyes luxuriate in the sight of Sharon's exposed chest. He can't count the nights in prison he fantasized about her like this. He'd developed so many elaborate scenes in his brain. It's hard for him to believe he's alone with her in real life, and not just in his mind. Before meeting Phillip Stroh, he never really thought his fantasies could someday come true. He just wishes she'd be more like the woman he'd fabricated. Over time, he'd given her certain characteristics and mannerisms, but he realizes now that she's not at all like the woman he conjured. Even after observing her for days, watching and listening to her most intimate moments without her knowledge, it hits him that the woman standing in front of him is a complete mystery. Oh, he knows she's real; not a figment, but real flesh and blood and bones, but very different from the woman who lives in his imagination. If it's possible, he's even more intrigued and obsessed with her. He strokes the lace on her bra; she doesn't flinch.

He's impressed, and also a bit frustrated, with her ability to keep her emotions in check. Looking in her eyes, he sees everything she's feeling: fear and revulsion mixed with anger and determination, she doesn't let her feelings/emotions dictate her actions. Her composure was one of the first things he noticed about her when he was in the same room with her for the first time. It was over 20 years ago, but the details are etched in his memory. He'd had no interest in spending the evening with Jack Raydor, but he wanted to meet the beautiful woman in the emerald green dress with the shy smile in the picture he'd stolen from Jack's desk. The cocktail party at the Raydor home was the perfect occasion to surreptitiously get to know her. He watched her smile graciously; she spent time listening to each guest, even the horrifically boring, self-important senior partners. As the night wore on, Jack got louder and louder with each Crown and Coke. Evans watched as Sharon attempted to get Jack to slow his drinking down. She constantly monitored her husband out of the corner of her eyes as she adroitly handled her hostess duties. He also noted the sad, lonely look in her eyes; the look no one else seemed to notice, most especially her husband. Evans understood how she could feel lonely in a room full of people. Usually he was very content with his own excellent company, but occasionally he'd get lonely, and seek companionship if only for the night. He was interested in her for much more than just one night. He calculated it would only be a matter of time before he could lure her away from Jack; he was wrong.

She can feel his eyes on her, reminding her of the long ago evening in her home when she first became aware of him. Until he had found her in the hallway, after tucking her children in bed, she had thought he was attractive and charming, but when he inappropriately touched her face, and told her she had beautiful skin, she instinctively knew there was something very wrong with him. The rest of the evening, she'd been aware of him studying her; it made her extremely uncomfortable; however, she couldn't tell her husband because he was getting drunker and drunker as the night progressed, so she steered clear of Mark Evans. She's not able to do that now. His fingers roam over her breasts, stroking the lace of her bra. She tries to pull her shredded top together with a slightly shaky hand. He brushes her hand away. Using the tip of his index finger, he gently traces the infinity necklace she's wearing. "Did your boyfriend give you this necklace?" She doesn't answer; she tries to move away from him, but she's trapped between him and the toilet, and her feet are cuffed.

He smirks and says, "Aren't you worried about falling for another loser?" He's not going to get an answer; he knows it, but he just can't pass up the opportunity to inflict a little emotional pain on the woman whom he credits with instigating his downfall, and continuously rejecting him. He thinks he's struck a nerve when she bites her bottom lip, and briefly closes her eyes. This doesn't give him quite the satisfaction he thought it would. All he ever wanted was to bestow his great love on her, but her rejection of him started a chain reaction over two decades ago that's still occurring.

Opening her eyes, she meets his gaze unflinchingly, and decides to take a calculated risk by saying, "Andy Flynn is twice the man you'll ever be." Not knowing what to expect, she braces for another slap or punch, but he surprises her by laughing out loud.

"If you're trying to make me jealous you'll have to do better than that," he says. "I made it my business to learn all about Andy Flynn. The guy doesn't have the best track record with booze or women, but you already know that. I'm guessing that's why you aren't giving him more than just a taste. I'm not worried about Andy Flynn." Grabbing the green dress off the counter, he hands it to her and says, "Now, put this on."

There's a flurry of activity surrounding Fritz Howard in the Murder Room. Per Andy's suggestion, he's just gotten off the phone with his counterpart, Chief Keith Stewart, in Sacramento. Addressing the trio of Flynn, Provenza, and Nelson standing in front of him, he says, "You're not going to believe this; the Sacramento police know all about C H Winery. Apparently, they grow more than just grapes, and we aren't the only ones looking for them and their daughter. Chief Stewart is on his way to the winery by helicopter. The Copes have a home and a helipad on the property. There's already an officer from Sacramento on the scene … "

"Great, they can help us find Sharon," interrupts Flynn.

"Yes, but it's complicated. They're still assessing the situation before they serve a search warrant looking for weed and other illegal substances on the property. The general public is present in the winery; like I said, it's complicated."

Provenza asks, "Are they working with local law enforcement?"

"Well, that's a bit of a problem," Howard replies. "It seems the two cops who comprise the Liberty Police Department are also on the Cope's payroll as security guards. According to Stewart, the officers in Liberty are essentially paid to look the other way. Stewart assured me that he understands the urgency of the situation, and he'll keep in close contact with us."

Evans is standing behind Sharon; he's zipping up the dress. He's ordered her to hold her hair up out of the way. Before pulling the zipper all the way up, he studies the pale, silkiness of her back. He sees several freckles. He'd never noticed that when he was watching her before. Of course, this is so much better than just watching her through a computer monitor. He can drown in her essence now; indulging all his senses. Molding his body to her back, he reaches around her, and glides his hands over her curves. He kisses each freckle scattered across the top of her back, and breathes deeply as he lingers in the scent of her skin and hair, but he stops before getting too carried away. He has a carefully thought out plan, and he's not going to deviate from it, so he raises the zipper all the way up and steps away from her. She puts her arms down; her hair falls around her shoulders. "I was so excited when I discovered Stroh's friends own this beautiful home and winery right near the Napa Valley. This is so much more private than a bed and breakfast," he says, "and we need our privacy. I have a big night planned for us."

He walks around to the front of her body, and scrutinizes her from head to toe. "Raise your hair up again," he commands. Reluctantly, she acquiesces and he says, "Yes, that's exactly how I remember you from the picture." She feels detached from what's happening in the small bathroom. Her mind is focused on the possibility of escape or rescue. She has confidence in her team, but she knows full well it's on her to try her best to stay alive and help herself. She feels him pick her up; lowering her arms; her hair falls, and brushes his cheek. He carries her back to the couch. Cuffing her hands again, he leaves her on the couch, and walks over to a small bar in an alcove near the kitchen. There's an extensive selection of wine. He picks a bottle, and pours two glasses while keeping an eye on her. She's not looking at him. Reaching in his shirt pocket, he withdraws a pill and slips it into her glass. He would prefer not to drug her. He'd rather see and feel her struggle, and even try to fight him, but he's not taking any chances, at least for tonight, so he'll take the easy way out for now.

Unbeknownst to him, she's watching his every move in the mirror over the fireplace. She knows what he's doing, and will try to use it to her advantage. He sets her glass of wine in front of her on the coffee table. She clumsily lifts the glass with her hands cuffed. "You must be thirsty," he says as he watches her put the glass to her lips, take a gulp, and swallow. She has to be convincing, but she doesn't intend to swallow another drop. He doesn't intend to rush this evening; he wants to savor his time with her. Peering at her over his glass, he takes a sip and walks to the picture window. His body aches from driving all day. Turning his head from side-to-side to work out the kinks in his neck, he stands and stares out at the horizon as the sky turns from pink to purple. He's very content, and pleased with himself. He's certain he's so much smarter than everyone; no one will be able to stop him from fulfilling his destiny.

With his back turned, she leans forward on the couch, and pours half her drink into the plant on the coffee table. She's trying to be careful, but spills a few drops on the table in her haste. Don't look at it; she thinks to herself. Trying not to draw attention to the liquid, she sits back, and puts the glass to her lips once again, faking a sip.

"Damn baby; slow down; we've got all night," he says as he walks toward her.

"I'm thirsty and hungry," she replies.

Releasing her feet from the cuffs, he caresses her arches before saying, "Let's go to the kitchen, and see if we can find some food." He helps her up off the couch; still holding her half-empty wine glass, she stumbles a little on purpose; he catches her before she can spill any of her drink, and puts his arm around her waist to lead her into the kitchen. He doesn't want food in her body; he wants her to consume the remainder of the wine, but he's inspired by her hunger comment and is pretending to be accommodating. Setting her down on a large, solid oak chair at the kitchen table, he releases her hands, but leaves the cuff around her left wrist, and clips the empty cuff to the heavy chair. She won't be going anywhere without taking the chair with her.

Searching the contents of the stainless steel refrigerator, he's not surprised to find it's mostly empty. Clearly, no one has been living in this house lately. While his back is to her, and he's busy poking around looking for food, Sharon pours a small amount of wine out of the glass onto the cloth placemat in front of her. It's black with a gold sunburst design in the center; it'll be very hard to detect the moisture. She is setting the glass down when he closes the refrigerator, and turns around to tell her that it's empty but for a bottle of ketchup and a jar of pickles. Joining her at the table, he pays close attention to her wine glass, and urges her to drink up.

"Please check the pantry," she says, "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

He gets up to walk to the pantry; she pours the rest of the wine onto the placemat. The pantry is fully stocked with canned and dry goods. He grabs a package of spaghetti, and a jar of sauce, and heads to the stove. If he times this just right, she'll be completely incapacitated by the time dinner is ready. Noticing her glass is empty, he walks to the bar and retrieves the bottle of wine he opened earlier.

"No," she says. "I don't want more. I'm not feeling well."

"You're just hungry," he says, "but suit yourself." He doesn't need her to drink more; she's already consumed the drug, and he doesn't want any at all because he needs to be sober to fulfill their destiny. Setting the bottle down near the stove, he gets busy preparing the spaghetti. While he's cooking and chatting; he's watching her closely. After about ten minutes, she starts to sway in the chair; her eyes are growing heavy. He just keeps talking about his brilliant performance at the hospital much earlier in the day. "I hid the car keys, and had nothing on me when I walked into the ER claiming to be Jack Raydor. Those idiots never doubted me. The only hard part was getting my hands on a scalpel; I wasn't sure how I was going to pull that off, but it was actually pretty easy. They left me alone in a curtained area to let the anesthesia wear off; once I was alert enough, I just got up and walked into the OR and helped myself. No one saw me because no one was looking."

Turning off the stove, he walks over to examine Sharon more closely; her eyes are closed; she's barely upright in the chair. He walks out of the kitchen in search of the master bedroom which he locates on the ground floor at the back of the house. Sharon can hear a faint noise from outside which she can't identify, but she keeps up her act of being incapacitated. Evans returns to the kitchen; he releases her left wrist from the cuff; picking her up, he carries her to the bedroom, deposits her lifeless body on the bed, and spreads her hair out on the pillow. The sound from outside is growing louder. He's aware of it, but more focused on her. Kicking his shoes off, he climbs on the bed next to her. His control is slipping; he's waited so long for this. She can feel him remove her glasses. She's full of anxiety. The fight or flee instinct is strong; she must force herself to be still; wait for the right moment to surprise him, and give herself a chance to escape. He's draped across her. The sound is louder and closer. He kisses her mouth; she almost cries out and moves when he plunges his tongue between her lips. Her mind is screaming at her to react. The noise outside is deafening, and although she can't see it with her eyes closed, the room fills with a bright light. Rolling off her, he gets off the bed, and walks to the window to find out what's going on. He swears profusely; enraged at being interrupted, he throws the curtains back and stares outside.

He never knew what hit him. The blow lands on the back of his head, and his body wilts. He jerks forward when he hits the ground; she jumps out of the way; dropping the heavy, silver candlestick she'd snagged off the nightstand. She runs to the French doors, and yanks at the doorknob; nothing happens. It's locked from the inside. His body stirs. She wills herself to calm down. Without her glasses, she has to squint at the doorknob to find the locking mechanism. It feels like it takes forever, but she finally turns the lock, twists the doorknob and the door opens.

Chief Stewart can hardly believe his eyes when he emerges from the helicopter to see a woman with bare feet, and her hands up, running toward him across the yard.


	21. Dawn to Dark

She's running hard to reach the man who just got out of the helicopter. He's not that far away, but she's so tired. She feels like she's running in sand; her lungs are burning. Looking over her shoulder, she's relieved her attacker is not pursuing her; nevertheless, she doesn't slow down. Without her glasses it's hard to see, but the man in front of her is coming into sharper focus. He appears to be in uniform. She's just a few feet away from him when she steps on something sharp, and lands hard on the ground. It's at this point, she wakes up almost every night covered in sweat with a pounding heart.

Staring at the light fixture above her head, Sharon is all too aware her alarm clock will go off soon. She should get up and prepare for the difficult day ahead, but she can't seem to make herself get out of bed. She's had very little sleep thanks to the recurring nightmare that's plagued her since her abduction a month ago. She can handle a bad dream, but she's having a harder time dealing with being alone in her own home. She knows there's no longer a hidden camera in the light fixture above her; no one is watching her; no one is hiding in her closet; no one is touching her possessions; however, her home still doesn't feel like her home. Andy encouraged her to stay with him indefinitely, but that's not how she wants their relationship to develop. They're together based on desire not desperation, and she intends to keep it that way. The alarm goes off; she reaches out and turns it off, but lingers in bed, reluctant to start the day.

Theresa Cope Miller Douglas hits the shower early in jail because it's much less crowded at dawn. Standing under the lukewarm water, she's reminded of the last time she saw Dr. Blaine Hill. A month has passed, but she can still picture him stepping out of the shower after they'd had sex in his pool house. His hair was wet; a towel was wrapped around his waist; drops of water slid off his head into the salt and pepper hair on his chest. He looked at her with confusion as she slowly raised the gun and fired twice. She was out of her mind in that moment. She hadn't planned on killing him; she just wanted to scare him. Of course, she hadn't planned on falling in love with him in the first place. He refused to leave his fourth wife for her. She wishes she'd never met him years earlier when he performed a facelift on her mother. An outstanding plastic surgeon, he was rich, successful, and looking to invest and grow his money. He'd gone into business with her parents, Craig and Lydia Cope. They'd established C H Winery, a very lucrative business until a month ago.

A musty smell assaults her nose the minute she unlocks the front door and walks in the house. It's early; the sun is barely up; she has a full day ahead of her with no time to waste. Walking through the living room, she notices the dead houseplant in the middle of the dusty coffee table. Brown leaves litter the top of the table. She counts three bullet holes in the leather couch, and pauses when she sees the blood spatter that looks like drops of chocolate on the leather. Wrinkling her nose at the gruesome sight, she continues through the room until she reaches a large picture window. Throwing open the curtains to let some light in, she realizes that the window is boarded-up. Moving to a smaller window, and moving aside the curtains, she admires the sun rising over the vineyard, lighting the sky in hues of pink and orange. It's going to be a beautiful day, but she'll be too busy to really enjoy it. Chief Keith Stewart has tasked her with completing an inventory of the contents of the house and winery for the Sacramento Police Department.

Chief Stewart pours himself another cup of coffee. He's already at work, and trying to distract himself from picking up the phone to call Captain Sharon Raydor. Today is going to be a hard day for her; he wants her to know he's thinking about her. He thinks about her a lot since the night he helped her escape from Mark Evans. He'd just emerged from the helicopter when he saw her, in a green dress and bare feet, running across the lawn toward him. Suddenly, the lights on the helicopter switched off, and he couldn't see a thing.

"Jake, turn the lights back on," he yelled to the pilot.

She was about ten feet away from him when the lights came back on. He heard her cry out, and watched her fall to the ground. Thinking she'd been shot, he also hit the ground before he realized he hadn't heard a gun. Water blew in his face as he rose from the ground. The automatic sprinkler system was running.

"Are you Captain Sharon Raydor?"

She looked up at him hovering above her and said yes. Her face was contorted in pain, her eyes not quite focusing on his face. She was struggling to sit up; he needed to help her, but he was momentarily stunned as he stared in her eyes, trying to absorb the many shades of green. She moaned, he finally noticed her foot was bleeding, and turned at an odd angle. Looking back at the helicopter, he made a motion for Jake to join them.

Pointing at the corner of the house, Sharon said, "There's a dangerous man in there. His name is Mark Evans. He abducted me at gunpoint this morning. I hit him on the back of the head and knocked him out, but I don't know if he's still out. He's in that back bedroom."

"I'm Chief Stewart with the Sacramento Police Department. I talked to Chief Howard less than an hour ago; he made me aware of your situation. Are you injured?"

"I stepped on something sharp, but I left my glasses in the bedroom, so I don't know what I stepped on," she replied while twisting her head around, looking at the ground around her for the sharp object, "and I may have broken my ankle. I don't think I can walk."

"Jake, help me get her up and into the copter," Stewart said to the approaching pilot.

As they were making their way across the yard, she explained that Mark Evans was in possession of at least two firearms.

"Is he the only one in the house?" Stewart asked.

"As far as I know."

As soon as they had her settled, he issued instructions to take her to Sacramento Medical Center. "Captain, use Jake's phone to let your team know you're safe. My partner is in the winery next to the house. I'm going to hook up with him, and we'll get Mark Evans. Don't you worry."

Despite the throbbing pain in her ankle, she managed to give him a slight smile before he turned and hopped out of the helicopter, headed toward the house. As she ascended it occurred to her that she'll end the day the same way she started it: in a hospital. He didn't see her again until several hours later. It was the middle of the night; she was asleep when he entered the room on the fifth floor. He was reluctant to wake her, but he wanted to check on her and tell her the good news himself. Staring at the IV line protruding from her pale arm on top of the sheet, he was trying to figure out if he should stay or go, when her eyes fluttered open. She reached for his hand in the darkened room, and mumbled, "Andy" in a sleepy voice.

"No ma'am, it's Chief Stewart."

Immediately releasing his hand, she scooted up in the bed and blinked at him.

"I think you need these," he said as he reached in his pocket for her glasses. "I figured they were yours, and I wanted to let you know we got Evans. He took a bullet in the leg; he's in surgery one floor below you right now."

Reaching for her glasses, her hand brushed his and she asked, "Will he survive?"

"Yeah, his injury isn't that bad."

"That's good, I'm glad he's still alive."

The chief looked at her in surprise, wondering why she was happy the scumbag would survive.

"He's full of information that I intend to get out of him one way or another," she said.

Smiling down at her, he replied, "I understand, and when you're up to it, I'd like to hear the whole story. Chief Howard only had time to give me the highlights over the phone. How are you feeling?"

"I'll be fine, but I had to have a pin inserted in my ankle, and stitches on the bottom of my foot."

"Well, I hope you've had a tetanus shot because I found the broken sprinkler head you stepped on, and it's full of rust."

"Great," she said with a smirk and more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.

He chuckled at her response. "Of course, it could've been much worse. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thank you." Indicating the chair near the bed, she added, "Please have a seat, and tell me what happened. I want every detail."

"It can wait. I should go now, and let you get some rest. I'll come back later."

"No, please stay; I could be headed back to LA by the time you return, and I'd really like to hear about it now from you." It never crossed her mind that she sounded slightly flirtatious. She was just anxious to know the details about the capture of the man who turned her life upside down.

The chief reluctantly sat down and began talking. "The house was locked up tighter than a drum by the time I left you and rendezvoused with my partner, Mickey. We figured that meant Evans was up and moving around inside, but it was dark and hard to see. The curtains were open in the living room; Mickey shined his flashlight in, and thought he saw Evans walking through the living room, so we picked up a wooden bench off the front porch, and threw it through the window. When we attempted to enter, we didn't realize that Evans was hiding behind the couch; he popped up and took a shot at us."

Pausing long enough to register the concern on her face, the chief continued, "He missed, but we fired several shots at him. Most of 'em landed in the couch, but at least one hit him in the leg. That didn't really slow him down. He kept firing and backing out of the room. We couldn't really get a good angle on him before he made it to the garage and locked the door. We could hear him starting up a vehicle, so we ran outside to get ready to stop him if he tried to leave through the garage. That's not what he did though."

Shifting uncomfortably in the bed, Sharon is listening, but her pain is increasing. She doesn't want him to stop talking, so she discreetly pushes the call button as he continues, "He used the vehicle to barricade the door, and then he passed out. We couldn't get in the garage. Basically, there wasn't anything happening for almost an hour.

The chief is interrupted by the sound of a nurse's voice asking a question through the speaker at the head of the bed. "What can I do for you?"

"I need some more pain medicine, please."

"I'll be right there," the nurse replied.

Getting up from the chair, the chief walked to her bedside. Lightly touching her arm, he said, "I should go. There's not much left to tell. By the time Evans regained consciousness, we had plenty of backup on the scene. When he tried to leave in the vehicle, we had him surrounded."

"Oh, that's good. So, no officers were injured."

"No, it went smoothly, but before we put Evans in the ambulance, he asked me if you were alright."

"What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him a damn thing. I just cuffed him tighter."

The nurse entered the room with her hands full of supplies. The chief stepped away from the bed. "I'm headed home for some shut eye. We'll be in touch."

"Okay. Thank you so much for everything," Sharon said right before the nurse moved the covers off her to inspect the stitches on the bottom of her foot. Chief Stewart stared at her for several seconds before he turned and walked out the door. She didn't notice his eyes lingering on her.

The chief pushed the button for the elevator at the end of the hall. After waiting for a bit, he decided to just take the stairs down. When the elevator finally reached the fifth floor; the doors opened and Andy Flynn rushed out.


	22. There Are No Words

The throbbing in Sharon's foot and ankle finally began to subside after the nurse administered IV pain medication. "This will also help you sleep," the nurse said. "Is there anything else you need?"

Sharon took off her glasses, handed them to the nurse and said, "Please set these on the table for me, and turn out the light." The nurse took the glasses from her, put them on the adjustable tray table near the bed, and turned off the overhead light before leaving the room. Closing her eyes, Sharon let her mind drift to the stormy night, a little over 48 hours ago, when she first shared a bed with Andy. She'll never forget his face as he stared at her dressed in his Dodgers t-shirt. He had a look of disbelief mixed with wonder on his face when she slid into bed next to him. Now, she's dressed in a hospital gown, and she's all by herself. Tears form at the corners of her closed eyes as she's hit with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

A tear rolls down her bruised cheek; as she reaches up to swipe it away, she hears the door open and soft footsteps approaching the bed. Her eyes fly open, but the lighting in the room is very dim, and she's not wearing her glasses, so all she sees is a silhouette. As the dark figure looms over her, she can see a hand reach out to touch her. She's about to scream when she hears a familiar voice.

"It's so good to see you; you'll never know how worried I've been."

All the air leaves her lungs, and her tears flow freely at the sound of Andy's voice. She can't even speak. She just reaches up for him as he clumsily leans in, and gathers her in his arms the best he can. "It's okay, it's going to be okay," he reassures her, and himself. He can feel her start to relax in his embrace. He'd like to climb in the bed with her and hold her close if it were physically possible, but he's still healing from his own injuries.

After a few moments calmed by his presence, her tears subside and she whispers in his ear, "I know I told you on the phone to stay put in LA, but you have no idea how happy I am that you didn't follow orders." She releases him and lays back on the pillow.

Reaching for her hand, he says, "I couldn't stay away. I just had to see you to make sure you're all right; I got here as fast as I could. A few traffic laws may have been broken." She can just make out the classic smirk on his face, and feel the warmth of his touch, making her feel instantly better, less alone and fearful and angry. "Don't go anywhere, I have a surprise for you," he says with a wink. She reaches for her glasses; he turns the light on and opens the door. "Here's your surprise," he says as Rusty enters the room.

Sharon's eyes light up at the sight of Rusty awkwardly walking toward her carrying a small bag. He's happy to see her, but not quite sure how to act or what to say. Andy had warned him about what to expect; nevertheless, the sight of her bruised face and her lying injured in the hospital bed evokes strong and unexpected emotions in him. He considers himself to be tough, not the kind of person to display tender feelings, so he's embarrassed and more than a little shocked when his eyes start to burn with unshed tears. He opens his mouth to speak, but there are no words. Sharon intuitively understands what's going on with him; she always has. Holding her arms out, he drops the bag, and allows her to draw him into a long, silent hug. Eventually, they pull apart, but continue to look in each other's eyes. They've been through so much together; words aren't really necessary.

Andy steps up beside Rusty. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Andy tells Sharon, "He's turning into a pretty good driver."

"Andy made me do all the driving."

"Practice makes perfect," Andy retorts, "besides, I'm still sore as hell, and I can't drive safely." Looking down at Sharon, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Considering I have stitches in my foot and a pin in my ankle, I really couldn't be better. You two are here; Phillip Stroh is dead; Mark Evans is no longer a threat, and the nurse just gave me a shot of the good stuff right before you walked in here. I'm actually having a little trouble keeping my eyes open."

"We'll get out of here for a few hours and let you rest, but then I want you to tell me everything," Andy said.

"Wait, don't go yet. Have either of you talked to Emily and Ricky?"

"We talked to them in the car on the way here," Andy explained. "They're very concerned about you, but relieved that you're going to be okay. Of course, they want to talk to you as soon as you're up to it."

"They send their love," Rusty added. "Oh, I almost forgot. I was at the condo looking for you when Andy called to let me know what was going on. As soon as I found out, I packed a few things that I thought you'd need."

Sharon yawned and said, "Thank you, both of you. I feel so much better knowing you guys are a few minutes away, and not hours away from me."

Andy leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "We'll be back in a little while. You get some rest." Turning to Rusty, he said, "Come on. Let's go find somewhere to eat."

"Okay," Rusty replied, "but none of that vegetarian stuff for me. I want a burger and fries, and I'm driving, so I get to pick the place."

Andy rolled his eyes at Sharon, and gave her his trademark grin before turning and walking to the door. Rusty squeezed her arm, told her he'd see her later, turned out the light, and followed Andy out the door. Sharon was asleep by the time her guys stepped into the elevator.

Chief Stewart drove by the two of them walking to the parking garage. He wasn't paying much attention because he was preoccupied wondering about Andy. That's the name Captain Raydor called him when she reached for his hand. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, so he's hoping Andy is her child or brother or just a friend who isn't all that special to her. He feels silly even speculating about it, but there's something about the woman. He's intrigued, and it's been a very long time since he's been interested in anything but work, the very thing that caused his last relationship to die. He's ready to live for something other than his job. He risks his life every time he puts on his uniform, but he hasn't been willing to risk his heart in years; he thinks maybe it's time.

The next time Sharon opens her eyes, the sun is up. A young hospital employee is setting a breakfast tray next to her glasses on the adjustable table. The smell is not appealing, but she's hungry. She'd like to go to the bathroom before she eats, but she's not supposed to get out of bed without assistance, so she pushes the call button and asks for help. While she waits for a nurse, she takes the lid off the breakfast tray. There's a bowl of unappealing, lumpy oatmeal and two pieces of cold toast with no butter or jelly. She almost gags just looking at the food, and decides to just drink the orange juice instead.

Andy and Rusty are sound asleep sitting up in the fifth floor waiting room. There's a TV on, but no one is watching it. A toddler is ripping pages out of a magazine he found on a chair while his mother ignores him, and talks on her cell phone. Several people are talking quietly to each other. Andy wakes up when his cell phone rings. It's Provenza asking about the captain's condition. Rusty wakes up while Andy is on the phone. The toddler walks over to Rusty, and throws the magazine at him; it lands at his feet; the toddler starts crying. Rusty is still trying to wake up when the toddler's mother gets up, and walks across the room to retrieve her child. She gives Rusty an irritated look, but she never stops talking on her cell phone.

Sharon regrets drinking the juice because ten minutes later the nurse still hasn't arrived. She's trying to figure out how to walk with crutches and drag the IV pole at the same time when the nurse finally scurries into the room, full of apologies. "I'm so sorry. We're very busy this morning, and I got here as fast as I could." Sharon doesn't want to talk; she wants to go to the bathroom, so she heads in that direction. The nurse clutches the IV pole, and walks behind her. It's slow going. Sharon hasn't used crutches since she had a skiing accident in high school and broke her left leg.

Andy and Rusty walk in the room as the nurse is helping Sharon get back in bed. They both look at the food, and decide she needs a better breakfast.

Handing Rusty a wad of bills, Andy says, "Here, go find us a box of donuts."

"Are you serious?" Rusty asks sarcastically.

"Of course," Andy replies, "what's wrong with donuts?"

Failing to contain his laughter, Rusty says, "There's nothing wrong with donuts. They're delicious; that's why cops eat 'em all the time."

"Hey, funny guy, just go get the donuts, and bring coffee too."

Sharon is smiling and shaking her head at the two of them. Normally, she wouldn't consider eating even one donut, but right now, she feels like she could eat a dozen. Andy's reassuring presence is making her feel much better, physically and emotionally. He sits down in a chair near the bed and studies her face. "You look much better this morning," he tells her.

"I feel better, and I'm ready to get out of here."

"Have they said when you can go home?"

"I'll probably be discharged at some point today according to the nurse."

They hear a knock on the door; Sharon says, "Come in."

They both stare as a man in uniform walks in the door carrying a bouquet of flowers. Peering over the top of the petals, Chief Stewart's face falls as he realizes Sharon is not alone.

"Good morning," she says with a hint of surprise in her voice. "Chief Stewart, this is Lieutenant Andy Flynn."

Andy stands and attempts to shake the man's hand, but Stewart's arms are full of flowers. It's an awkward moment. Andy sits back down, and the chief searches for some place to set the flowers. No one speaks. The silence is interrupted by a beeping noise coming from the IV pump. They all turn and stare at the source of the sound.

A nurse enters the room; she shuts off the noise, and tells Sharon, "I'm going to remove the IV now. The doctor is making rounds; he'll be in to see you shortly. As soon as he signs your discharge papers, you'll be free to go." The two men surreptitiously eye each other while the nurse gently removes the needle from Sharon's arm. When the nurse leaves, they all start talking at once. Both men defer to Sharon who wants to know if the chief has heard any news about Mark Evans.

"Yes," he says. "The surgery went well; he's recuperating under guard at the other end of the hall."

Clearly irritated, Andy says, "Are you kidding me?"

"Please, don't be alarmed Lieutenant. I assure you and Captain Raydor, he's not capable of leaving the bed."

Looking at Andy, Sharon says, "It's okay; we'll be out of here soon enough." Turning to the other man, she points at the flowers and asks, "Chief, are those for me?" The chief's face turns slightly red as he looks down at the flowers he's still holding. He feels foolish for buying such a large arrangement. Stepping forward, but without looking in her eyes, he places the flowers in her lap and says, "Yes, I hope you feel much better."

"Thank you. I do feel better, and these are lovely."

The chief steps back, and thrusts his now empty hands in his pockets. He's not normally at a loss for words, but she makes him nervous, and he can't figure out the exact nature of her relationship with her subordinate. He senses that there's much more than meets the eye between the two.

Indicating the other chair in the room, she asks, "Would you like to have a seat?"

Clearing his throat, he says, "No, I need to go see if Evans is awake and responsive. Before we send him back to LA, I'll need time to interrogate him because there was a lot more going on at that winery than just growing grapes, and I want to know what he knows."

"Speaking of the winery," Andy says to Sharon, "I talked to Provenza this morning. He told me some interesting news about the case Major Crimes was investigating before you went missing yesterday. The plastic surgeon who turned up dead in his own pool house was one of the owners of C H Winery along with Senator and Mrs. Craig Cope. Their daughter, Theresa, confessed to the murder of the surgeon in the middle of the night."


	23. Loose Lips

"I've already told you five times; I'm not talking to anyone but Captain Sharon Raydor," says Mark Evans. Slamming his fist on the table with each word, he emphasizes, "in her office."

"That's not going to happen," replies Chief Keith Stewart.

"And I don't need a lawyer," adds Evans, "I am a lawyer."

"You were a lawyer. There's a difference," says the chief. "Suit yourself, but I can make it worth your while if you'll tell me where to find the Copes."

"I will tell Sharon Raydor their location, and a lot more, but I'm not talking to you," says Evans.

"Fine by me; you can rot in jail till the end of time for all I care," the chief says before stomping out of the interrogation room. Mark Evans has been out of the hospital, and in the custody of the Sacramento PD for over a week, but Chief Stewart is getting nowhere with him. Stewart is reluctant to give up; however, he concedes enough is enough. It's time to throw in the towel, and put in another call to Captain Raydor. He's talked to her on the phone once since her discharge from the hospital; he remembers the conversation vividly for the warm tone in her voice, and the easy way she made conversation. And her laugh, he can't forget her laugh because it made him genuinely happy. Ostensibly, he called to inform her that Evans was being uncooperative, and he needed a little more time to get information out of the man. She was understanding and patient, and she offered him some insight into the narcissistic mind of Mark Evans. Enjoying the sound of her voice, and not wanting to hang up, the chief had inquired about her health. She told him she was healing, but she was having a hard time using the crutches. He told her a funny story about his own use of crutches several years ago; he'd tried to walk down stairs with crutches, and ended up right back in the hospital. She laughed, and then apologized for laughing at his pain. He felt like he could talk to her all day, and he's happy to have a good excuse to call her again.

Andy is sitting across from Sharon, in her office, discussing where to eat dinner when the phone rings. He can only hear her side of the conversation, but it doesn't take him long to figure out she's talking to Chief Stewart, and that causes him to frown a bit. He has no reason not to like the man. After all, the chief was hugely instrumental in capturing the person who attempted to do great harm to him and the woman he loves. Andy thinks he should probably get up and go back to his desk, but he can't seem to make himself do it. He's wondering why she's smiling and laughing so much. He's not normally a jealous person, and he trusts Sharon implicitly, but he can't shake the image of Stewart's face when the man first entered Sharon's hospital room carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Andy recognized the look because he'd worn the same smitten expression on his own face when he finally realized he was interested in being much more than just her work ally and friend.

Eventually hanging up the phone after what seemed like too long of a conversation in Andy's estimation, Sharon looks at him and asks, "What's wrong? You have a funny look on your face."

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just wondering when we'll get a crack at Mark Evans."

"According to Chief Stewart it will be soon because he can't get a word out of the man. Evans is refusing to talk to anyone but me, and he's insisting that it needs to be done right here in this office."

"No, absolutely not," Andy said. "That's way too dangerous."

Sharon stares at him over the top of her glasses with a frown on her face, trying to decide if she should be irritated. He's her subordinate; he doesn't give her orders; he takes her orders, but he's also her boyfriend, and he has every right to be concerned for her safety. This is the gray area that Taylor warned them about when they informed the man of their relationship status. Lifting the corners of her mouth, she favors him with a slight smile and says a little impatiently, "Of course, I'm not going to talk to Evans in my office, but I will talk to him. I have lots of questions and I want answers."

Evans immediately realized he'd pushed his demands a step too far with Chief Stewart, but it was too late to back down. He's watched Sharon be soft and flirty, motherly and protective, passionate and sensual, and even silly and clumsy. Now he wants to watch her in her element, powerful and in charge. Just thinking about it excites him. He figures he'll give the situation a few days and see what happens. He really has nothing to lose; he's back in a familiar environment. He feels much more comfortable behind bars even if it's a different facility than the one he called home for two decades. He's sharing a cell with a young, bald guy covered in ink. The man, with a skull tattoo on his neck, hasn't said more than five words to him, but he seems to be listening when Evans brags about the connections he's made through his association with Phillip Stroh. Evans knows he shouldn't be running his mouth, but he can't help himself. He misses the intimate, intelligent, stimulating conversations he had with Stroh. The need to feel important drives his arrogance to a whole new level, and his failure to fulfill his destiny with the woman he's obsessed over for two decades fuels his recklessness.

Theresa is not comfortable in her environment; her life has been about privilege not prison. She's had brushes with the law in the past, but her parents had plenty of pull, and the costly services of Phillip Stroh, to get her out of whatever hole she dug for herself. She's in too deep this time. Even if she could contact her parents, and she's tried multiple times, they wouldn't be able to help her now. She's in jail, waiting to be sent to prison, for the murder of Dr. Blaine Hill. She misses him terribly; she's lonely and scared. Her only visitor has been Captain Sharon Raydor. The formidable woman wanted to know the whereabouts of her parents, and their connection to a man named Mark Evans. Theresa didn't know the answer to either question.

Sharon's too tired to go out to dinner; they settle on eating take-out at her condo. Andy prepares their plates while she changes clothes. He can't stop smiling because he has a surprise for her; he's decided tonight is the night to reveal the surprise. He had planned to wait until right before her birthday a little over a month away, but he's feeling a vague sense of urgency which is unsettling to him, so he figures tonight's the night even if it's not the most romantic setting. When she enters the dining room in jeans and a cotton t-shirt wearing no shoes or makeup he can't help but stare at her transformation. He's continually amazed at the dichotomy she represents in his life: she's the sharp, authoritative boss at work, and in private he's privileged to see the softer more feminine, natural side of her. At times, he has trouble believing the same woman he portrayed as a witch to the amusement of his team is the woman currently leaning on him while he kisses her temple, takes her crutches, and pulls her chair out for her. She's preoccupied and distracted with thoughts of Evans, Stroh, The Copes, and how they're all connected; she hasn't even noticed the small, gift-wrapped box in the middle of her plate.

"Craig, something's wrong," Lydia Cope tells her husband as they disembark from their yacht. She's listening to cell phone messages she wasn't able to retrieve at sea.

"You can say that again," he replies. "Phillip should be here to pick us up, but I don't see him anywhere." The couple stand on the dock as crew members place their luggage next to them.

"Theresa has called me dozens of times, but she only left one message from jail."

"Dammit, not again," replies her husband. "What did she do this time?"

"I have no idea. She just said she was in jail before the message ended. I thought Phillip was keeping an eye on her."

"I thought so too," he says, "and he should be here to drive us home. I don't have a good feeling about this."


	24. It's Been a Long Day

Sighing dramatically, Lydia Cope sits on her suitcase, and stares at her husband of thirty-five years while he attempts to reach Phillip Stroh on the phone. Her looks have faded, but she still has the ability to turn heads. She was an aspiring actress when she met Craig, a golf caddy who could charm women and men equally. Times were tough for them in the beginning, but their combined drive, ambition, and willingness to cut corners to realize their dreams served them well. They climbed the LA social ladder to heights even they never dreamed of, and when Craig was elected to the California State Senate they were able to cut corners at a whole new level, creating wealth and influence which made them the perfect power couple for the better part of two decades.

"He's not answering," Craig tells his wife. "I'm going to call a car service to drive us home."

Sharon stares at the small box wrapped in silver paper sitting in the middle of her otherwise empty plate. She's certain there's no diamond engagement ring nestled in the box, and no proposal on the tip of Andy's tongue. They've spent long evenings discussing marriage, not marriage to each other, but their failed marriages. Andy understands Sharon's complicated feelings about the sanctity of marriage, even if he doesn't exactly share her feelings on the subject. Jack did a number on her; Andy knows it, and he's determined to handle her feelings with kid gloves. Marriage isn't off the table, but they're both very clear about what they want and need from each other at this point in their lives, and marriage isn't part of the equation at the moment.

Looking up at him, she smiles and asks, "What's this?"

"Open it and see," he says.

Ripping the paper off, it occurs to her that he probably bought her earrings to match the infinity necklace he gave her for Valentine's Day. Opening the box, she's surprised to see a round, orange pill resting on a bed of cotton. Giving him a quizzical look, she raises her eyebrows and waits for him to tell her what's going on.

"You're going to need that," is all he says.

"Why?"

"Because you don't want to get motion sickness when we take the boat to Catalina Island on your birthday."

Her grin grows wider. "I love Catalina Island, and I haven't been in years," she says.

Dishing fried rice onto her plate she's thinking about how mortified she was the last day of their family vacation on Catalina Island when Emily and Ricky were little. They had stayed on the beach all afternoon. Jack had let them bury him in the sand. They had made sand castles with a bucket and pail, collected sea shells, played in the water, and had a picnic. Of course, Jack did it all with a beer in his hand. By the time the sun was setting, Sharon couldn't get him to budge off the blanket he'd passed out on. She'd been on edge the whole time, watching him get drunker and louder. Her insistence that he stop only made him drink faster. The kids were having too much fun to notice. Sharon was forced to leave him on the beach. The kids were confused, scared, and crying on the walk back to the cottage they'd rented. She had to leave them alone while she went back to help her husband. She had Emily's bucket in her hand. Filling it with water, she dumped it on Jack's head to rouse him out of his stupor. The walk back with him had been even more unpleasant than walking with two whiny children. Later that same year, she'd had her brief, strange encounter with Mark Evans in the hallway of her home, and Jack had lost his job.

Noticing a slight frown on her face, Andy asks her what she's thinking.

"Oh, just another memory of Jack ruining a perfect day with my kids."

Andy knows better than to press her for details. He can easily recall times when he'd ruined family occasions. While they eat dinner, he changes the subject and tells Sharon about the B&B he's found for them on the island. "I know how much you wanted to stay in a B&B in Napa Valley, but I just figured you might want to go somewhere else after all that's happened."

Approaching their front door in the twilight, Lydia immediately realizes something bad happened during their absence. Turning to her husband, she asks, "Did you tell Theresa she could stay here while we were gone?"

"Of course not," he answers while trying to unlock the front door. "Why won't this key work?"

"The door's been damaged and badly repaired," she says.

"My key won't work. I'm going around back to see if I can get in the back door," he says. Following her husband to the backyard, Lydia pauses at the double car garage; the motion sensor light comes on. Rising up on her toes, she peers through the window in the garage door and says, "The Mercedes is missing."

A hundred thoughts run through Craig's mind as he and his wife continue around the side of the house to the backyard. He's far less concerned about his daughter's whereabouts than he is about Phillip Stroh's whereabouts at the moment. The couple has no trouble using the key to get in the back door. In Craig's eyes nothing is amiss, but his wife is far more discerning. She knows people have been in her impeccable home even before she enters her bedroom, and sees the crumpled bedspread and the tube of lotion on the nightstand.

"I want to see where we'll be staying on the island," says Sharon. "We can clear the table later." Andy joins her on the couch where she's already seated with her computer on her lap. Sitting next to her, he puts his arm around her shoulders, leans in and nuzzles her neck drawing a soft sigh from her lips.

He chuckles at her, and says, "So, does this mean you like your surprise?"

Turning to look in his eyes, she's intent on teasing him about the motion sickness pill he'd so carefully wrapped in beautiful paper, but she catches her breath when she sees the look in his eyes. It's the look of a man who sincerely wants her to feel happy, desired, and loved. She doesn't say a word. She reaches up, places her palm on his cheek, and kisses him until they're both breathless.

"Does that answer your question?" she asks with a smirk on her face. Opening the computer, she pulls up the website for the B&B. The first picture that pops up features the lush grounds around the building. The picture was taken at dusk; there are strings of lights in the trees, several koi ponds, and a large fire pit surrounded by cushioned Adirondack chairs. She can picture them sitting by the fire in the evening after a day of exploring the island. Clicking on the next picture that features the exterior of a room on the third floor, she says, "Oh, it looks like a treehouse. Just look at that porch swing."

"That's our room," Andy says. "The manager assured me we'll have the best view in the place. We can sit in that swing and see the ocean."

The next picture reveals a spacious room with dark, hardwood floors, a king size bed covered with a patchwork quilt, and a fireplace on the wall opposite the bed. "It gets chilly at night, so we'll want to build a fire," Andy says. Sharon looks at him and smiles. She's imagining lying in bed with him by firelight. Clicking on the next picture, Andy says, "Look at that huge marble bathtub."

"I can't wait," Sharon says, "let's go now."

"I haven't even told you the best part yet," Andy says. "This place is famous for their breakfast. They make their own cinnamon rolls and made-to-order omelets. And, there's bottomless mimosas for you."

"Oh boy," Sharon replies rolling her eyes at him. "I better start dieting right now."

"Don't you dare," he says. "You're perfect just the way you are."

Sharon closes the computer and sets it aside. Turning to Andy, she whispers, "Thank you," before kissing him again. In the middle of the kiss, her cell phone rings. Reluctantly pulling away from him she answers the phone. It's Chief Stewart calling to inform her that the Copes used their credit card to pay a car service to drive them from the port to their home. Andy conceals his annoyance at the interruption, but the chief is really getting on his last nerve. Sharon puts the phone down, and tells Andy that she's going to have the Copes picked up for questioning. His relaxing, romantic evening with Sharon is over.

The quiet man sharing a cell with Mark Evans has a long night ahead of him. Evans hasn't stopped talking for over an hour, and he's getting more and more wound up. The man with the skull tattoo on his neck could easily choke the life out of Evans just to get him to shut up, but he's taking in every word out of the man's mouth. Most of what he's hearing is just bragging, but every little bit Evans will drop a name, and the tattooed man will smile and nod his head to encourage Evans to keep talking.

Craig Cope pours his wife a second glass of wine and himself another scotch and soda. They're exhausted from their trip, and trying to relax before going to bed when they hear the doorbell. "Maybe that's Phillip," Craig says to his wife as he tightens the sash on his robe.

"I certainly hope so," she replies. "He needs to tell us what's going on with Theresa."

"And why he wasn't at the port to pick us up," Craig says.

Both of them are startled to see the police on their front porch. Their long day just got longer.


	25. Keeping Up Appearances

Dropping quarters in the vending machine, Chief Keith Stewart is wondering why he spends so many evenings eating candy alone at his desk instead of going home to prepare a proper dinner. He's also wondering why Sharon sounded distracted and out of breath on the phone earlier. He thinks she might have been in the shower, and maybe she had to answer the phone dripping wet. His cell phone rings before he can pursue the thought any further. Glancing at the screen, he sees it's the call he's been waiting for.

Mark Evans finally talked himself out and nodded off in his bunk. The quiet man with the skull tattoo wasted no time signaling the guard who then called Chief Stewart; now the man who had been listening to Evans talk will do some talking of his own with the chief.

Lydia Cope is not happy. She's alone in a small, drab room wondering when or if she'll get to close her eyes and rest after the incredibly long and tedious day she's had. She was immediately separated from her husband upon arrival at police headquarters. She has no idea what's going on, but she's not all that worried; she's mainly just annoyed and tired. She has a tennis lesson scheduled in the morning after brunch at the club, and she's a little worried about having to reschedule if this drags on much longer, but other than that there's no real reason to worry when you have the power, connections, and money she and her husband enjoy.

Craig Cope isn't worried; he's mad. No one seems to know or care how important he is; no one is talking to him, and no one will answer his questions. Just as he's rising from the uncomfortable chair he has occupied for the last hour, Sharon Raydor enters on crutches. He appraises her with hard, cold eyes as she approaches the only other chair in the room. Before taking a seat, she holds her hand out and shakes the former senator's hand while introducing herself. He automatically turns on the charm as they sit across a small table from each other, and she leans the crutches against the wall next to her chair. "Captain Raydor, I don't know what I'm doing here. If this has anything to do with my daughter, please rest assured that you know more about it than I do. My wife and I just got home this evening; we've been traveling in Europe for weeks."

Before Sharon can reply, Andy walks in the room with a file folder in his hand. He puts the file down on the table in front of her; they make brief eye contact before he turns and leaves. Sharon says, "Your daughter told me she had no idea how to contact you."

"You've seen my daughter? How is she? Why is she incarcerated?"

"I'll be the one asking questions," Sharon says with a slight edge in her voice, "and I'm curious why she wouldn't know how to contact her parents."

Craig Cope makes direct eye contact with Sharon for just a moment before staring down at his hand resting on the table. He appears to be gathering his thoughts, but he's really working to control his temper. People do not speak to him the way this woman is speaking to him. Drawing in a deep breath, he replies in a condescending tone, "My daughter has no interest in her parents unless and until she requires money." Looking up with no emotion on his face, he unflinchingly stares in Sharon's eyes until she looks down at the folder on the table in front of her.

That's it; she thinks to herself. She's finally seeing the real Craig Cope, not the mask he wears for the benefit of other people, but the person he really is. Maybe now she can get somewhere with this man, and start to unravel this tangled mess. Before she has a chance to continue, she hears Andy, through her earpiece, telling her to meet him in the hallway.

"Please excuse me," she says. "I'll be back."

Cope is working hard to exhibit patience, but he feels this is ridiculous, and he's been kept waiting long enough. "Look, what's this all about? What am I doing here? And where's my wife?"

Walking out on crutches with the folder in her hand is proving difficult, but she needs to appear unflappable in front of this man. "As I said, Senator, I'll be back, and I'll still be the one asking questions." Turning away from him, she makes her way to the door. He stares at her back. If looks could kill, she'd be mortally wounded.

Approaching Sharon in the hall, Andy says, "Chief Stewart asked me to interrupt you. He claims to have information you need."

"Did he explain the urgency?"

"No, he just insisted on talking to you right away. I transferred his call to your office."

Sharon takes a seat behind her desk, and motions for Andy to sit. Putting the call on speakerphone, she gets right to the heart of the matter. "Chief, I'm in the middle of an interrogation. Is this really the best time to be talking?"

"Yes, you need to know what my informant just told me. Evans claims a high-ranking law enforcement official was providing Phillip Stroh with all manner of assistance including information, money, credit cards, ID, weapons, and equipment, and the informant wasn't completely clear on this part, but Evans says the official also has connections to Craig and Lydia Cope."

Sharon and Andy eye each other as the chief goes on to explain that Mark Evans also claims the corruption doesn't stop with the Copes.

"What does that mean?" Sharon asks.

"Well, Evans is implying more people are involved, but the informant's not sure how much of this information is real, and how much is just Evans loving the sound of his own voice. At any rate, the Copes are in this up to their eyeballs."

"Thanks, Chief. That is very helpful. Please keep me informed if you learn more, and I'll stay in touch from my end."

"Sure thing, Captain. I look forward to hearing from you."

I just bet you do, Andy thinks to himself, but he keeps a neutral expression on his face as Sharon ends the call. As soon as she puts the phone down, Andy says, "It sounds like we need to put the Copes under surveillance."

Sharon concurs. "I'm going to go make nice with them to give you time to make the arrangements before I release them. I don't want them to suspect they're suspects. If other people are involved, I want them to lead us to those people."

Lydia's pleased to finally be in the same room with her husband, and relieved that she will not be forced to reschedule her brunch and tennis lesson in the morning. She's only half paying attention to Captain Raydor who seems to have finally figured out that she's not dealing with average, ordinary people. The more the captain talks, the more her husband appears to calm down.

Opening the folder Andy prepared for her earlier, she thrusts a picture at the pair and says, "Before I release you, please identify the man in this picture."

Craig replies, "That's Dr. Blaine Hill, he's our partner in the winery we own outside Sacramento."

Sharon says, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your partner is dead, and your daughter confessed to his murder." Sharon finally has Lydia's full attention. She grabs her husband's arm and they look at each other, but don't speak. It occurs to Sharon that neither one of the people sitting across from her look all that shocked or surprised. The room is very quiet. Sharon's waiting for them to ask a bunch of questions, but no one is making a sound, so she shows them another picture. "Please identify this man."

Craig doesn't answer right away. He looks down at the picture then back at his wife again, and finally says, "That's Phillip Stroh. We hired him to represent Theresa in a legal matter several years ago."

"Are you aware of Stroh's whereabouts?"

Not hesitating for a second, Craig Cope says, "No, of course not. I saw the news reports on TV when Stroh murdered that judge and disappeared a long time ago, but that's all I know."

Sharon asks the same question of Lydia Cope and gets the same quick answer. She's not at all surprised, but she's trying to buy time to set up surveillance of the couple.

Opening the folder again, she shows them a recent picture of Mark Evans and asks, "Can either of you identify this man?"

The couple look at the picture for a few seconds before Craig loses his patience and says, "Look, I have no idea who he is or what we're doing here. My wife and I are tired, and ready to go home." Sharon is more than happy to send them home. She's certain they'll be back soon, and the next time there will be a very different outcome.

She and Andy discuss the Copes while he drives her home. Eventually, they stop talking and Sharon stares out the passenger window. She's wondering if maybe they can pick up where they left off before the chief called and set the events in motion which put a halt to their romantic evening; however, it's almost midnight by the time they reach her condo, and they both have to be ready for another long day in just a few hours. Turning the car off, Andy reaches for her hand and says, "This isn't how I wanted our night to end, but I'm exhausted."

"I know; I am too," she says. "But, I really need to tell you something." She squeezes his hand, looks into his eyes with a sad face, and chews on her bottom lip. Uncharacteristically, she's having trouble expressing herself. She looks down at their joined hands and releases a deep breath.

The silence is starting to bother Andy. His imagination is running wild, and for just a second it flashes in his mind that she's struggling because she needs to give him bad news and she's not sure how to do it.

"I need you to know how much I appreciate you," she says.

She's trying to let me down easy, he thinks.

"Working with you tonight, even without the rest of the team, was fantastic. I don't want that to end. I don't want you to retire," she says.

All the tension in his body evaporates at the sound of her words. "There's not a chance," he says. "I know I've talked about it, but I'm not ready to do it. Please don't give it another thought."

She's so relieved. "You anticipate my needs without my even having to ask. I know it's selfish of me, but you make it so much easier to do my job. Just knowing you have my back makes me feel like I can accomplish almost anything. I haven't always had that in my career, or my life for that matter."

He kisses the back of her hand he's been holding while they've been talking. Replacing her hand with her lips, she gives him a scorching good night kiss.

Mark Evans slept great, and wakes up the following morning starving for breakfast. Remembering the night before and all the talking he did, he experiences a moment of regret, but it's only a moment. He's too cocky and full of himself to spend a lot of time second guessing his actions. Besides, he's never seen the quiet man with the skull tattoo talk to another living soul.

Theresa wakes up determined to talk to her mother. She has no desire to talk to her father; he's much harder to manipulate than her mother. She's very surprised when her mother's cultured voice answers on the first ring. Theresa knows the drill and waits for the recorded message to announce that it's a collect call from jail. Her mother must agree to accept the charges before they can talk. Suddenly, Theresa hears a click and the line goes dead indicating that her mother has not accepted the charges. Her face feels hot when she realizes her mother doesn't intend to talk to her.

Lydia Cope is running late for brunch and tennis, and she's in no mood to listen to her daughter whine. In the car, on the way to their club, she and Craig avoid talking about their daughter or any other unpleasant subject. Craig drops her off in the circular drive in front of the ornate building. She'd like him to stay and eat with her, but she understands he has work to do.

He's distracted and annoyed with all the traffic; he never notices the blue car that's been following him since he left home. Pulling into the parking lot of the marina, Cope hurries out of his car. The two undercover detectives in the blue car watch him climb onto a sailboat. The detective in the passenger seat picks up a pair of binoculars, and adjusts them for a few seconds. The detective in the driver's seat asks, "Can you see anything?"

"Yeah, Cope is talking to a guy I recognize. I'm pretty sure that's Chief Fritz Howard."


	26. Not What It Looks Like

"You have got to be kidding me," says Detective Gray, who is sitting in the driver's seat awkwardly fumbling for his own binoculars in the center console.

"I don't kid. You should know that by now," replies Detective Walker.

"Well, what in the world is Craig Cope doing on a boat with that pretty boy?" asks Gray.

Ignoring his partner's question and glib comment about Chief Howard, the deadpan detective watches as Craig Cope says a few words to Fritz Howard, who has a confused look on his face. Howard doesn't say anything; he simply points to the opening of a small cabin in the middle of the boat. Cope bumps him on the shoulder as he brushes by to approach the entrance of the cabin just as another man emerges from below deck. Both detectives train their binoculars on the mystery man; they can only see his back as he pauses for a few seconds in front of Cope before walking over to Howard standing at the bow of the boat. Howard takes a couple of steps back, and shakes his head sharply from side to side. The unidentified man reaches in the pocket of his windbreaker as he approaches Howard. "Something's goin' down," Gray says to Walker.

Gray is halfway out of the unmarked, blue vehicle when he feels Walker's hand on his arm. Never looking away from the action on the deck of the boat, Walker says, "Wait. I don't think this is what it looks like." Gray hesitates a few seconds before shutting the car door and sitting back in the driver's seat. The detectives watch the mystery man pull a wad of paper from the pocket of his windbreaker and hand it to Howard. Glancing down, Howard reluctantly takes it, thumbs through it, and sticks it in the back pocket of his jeans. Briefly glancing at Craig Cope, Howard says a few words to the unidentified man before shaking his hand and leaving the boat.

Glancing at his partner, Gray asks, "What the hell just happened?"

"I have no idea," replies Walker.

The two men standing on the deck of the boat watch Howard get in his vehicle and drive away. The detectives can see that Cope is agitated, but it's hard to see the face of the tall, thin man in the windbreaker who is wearing a cap and sunglasses. Cope and the mystery man disappear inside the cabin. Several minutes go by with no activity on the boat, but plenty of arguing in the car.

"What is your problem?" asks Detective Walker. "You damn near blew our cover."

Detective Gray says, "I thought that pretty boy was in trouble."

"Stop calling him that."

Lowering his binoculars, Gray turns to his partner and stares at him until he gets Walker's full attention. "What difference does it make what I call him?"

"He's a superior officer, and besides he's a good guy," answers Walker before turning his concentration back to the task at hand.

"Doesn't look like such a good guy to me. Didn't you see what he just did?"

"I don't know what I saw and neither do you. I'm sure it's not what it looks like. Now, pay attention."

Five tense minutes later, Cope gets off the boat alone, gets in his car, and leaves the marina with the detectives trailing a discreet distance behind. Weaving in and out of traffic for half an hour, Cope finally stops his vehicle in front of an elegant townhouse on the corner of a street lined with palm trees and well-manicured lawns. The detectives park their unmarked car four houses away from the corner townhouse. They watch as Cope takes a key out of his pocket, walks to the front door, and lets himself inside.

Slamming the door behind him, Cope shouts, "Stroh, are you here?" Walking through the foyer surrounded by silence, he shouts again, "Answer me, Stroh." A ripe smell hits him as he steps into the kitchen. He examines a loaf of bread on the counter. Mold is visible through the plastic wrap. The stench is stronger when he removes the lid from the trash can. He starts to toss in the moldy bread when he spots an empty milk carton lying on top of the full trash can. Bending down for a closer look, he notices the expiration date on the carton was a month ago. Walking through the kitchen to the garage, he opens the door and discovers it empty. Cope continues through the rest of the rooms hoping for some clue as to the whereabouts of his guest. A couple of lamps are on in the living room. Nothing seems out of place. There are no signs of struggle. A laptop with no power sits open on the unmade bed in the master bedroom. He sees clothes, shoes, a couple of empty suitcases in the closet, and toiletries in the bathroom. Cope shoves the computer aside in frustration and sits on the bed. Looking around the room, his mind works feverishly to figure out where Stroh might be and what he might be doing. Until this moment, Cope assumed his former friend had taken the missing Mercedes and vanished. He's not so sure about that now because he doesn't think Stroh would have purposely left his possessions behind unless he'd had no choice.

The thought of Phillip Stroh on the loose sends a chill through Craig Cope. It hadn't always been that way. When Cope first met Phillip Stroh, years earlier through a mutual acquaintance, he and his wife, Lydia, were impressed with the man. They hired Stroh to defend their daughter, Theresa, in court. Stroh mounted a brilliant defense resulting in Theresa's freedom. The two men began spending time together personally and professionally after the trial. With his good looks, confidence, brains and charisma, Stroh reminded Cope of himself at a much younger age. It didn't take long for Cope to welcome Stroh into his inner circle of powerful associates. It was a comfortable and profitable arrangement for everyone involved.

Cope even started to think of Stroh as the son he never had until he noticed Stroh's preoccupation with young women. It was subtle at first; they'd be eating lunch together in a restaurant, and Cope would notice how Stroh's eyes would linger too long on the waitress. The occasional explicit comment from Stroh would unnerve Cope, but he'd just pretend he didn't hear or he'd change the subject. Stroh worked hard at maintaining a mask of civility, but the mask would slip every now and then allowing Cope to catch a glimpse of the monster under the mask. Cope grew to understand his protégé wasn't always what he appeared to be. Cope would've liked to break all ties with Stroh, but by the time he came to that realization it was too late. They'd been involved in too many dirty deals together for Cope to cut the man loose with no consequences.

Cope was briefly free of the burden of association when Stroh was sent to prison; that didn't last long. After his brutal escape, Stroh immediately sought the aid of Craig Cope. The last thing Cope wanted to do was help the former lawyer who had once been his close friend and confidant, but he had no choice. Stroh constantly reminded Cope of how much trouble he could make for him with just one anonymous phone call to the police. Cope was forced to call in favors to help the murderer leave the country. Cope had been sorely tempted to make an anonymous call himself and turn Stroh over to the law, but he knew that wasn't an option because Stroh would know instantly who had betrayed him. He would tell all; Cope and his cronies would be ruined at best and dead at worst.

During the time Stroh was hiding in plain sight in Europe, Cope was able to breathe a little easier. Thanks to the plastic surgery performed by Dr. Blaine Hill, and the money supplied by Cope and his associates, Stroh could travel unhindered throughout Europe. Cope had no problem supplying funds if it meant Stroh would stay away. Stroh enjoyed Europe. He spent a great deal of time in Prague, Austria, Munich, and Paris, his favorite city. After three months in the City of Lights, he began to grow bored and restless. He'd spend his days plotting his return to Los Angeles. He knew it was stupid to even think about it, but his desire to seek revenge against the people who had identified him as a monster - specifically the blonde bitch with the annoying drawl, and the skinny, whiny kid - was strong.

At night, he'd roam the city to distract himself from the thoughts in his head. It was growing harder for him to keep the monster under the mask. Late one night, he made a mistake by severely underestimating the strength and speed of a young woman who happened to smile and make brief eye contact with him on the metro. When she exited alone, he followed. Hanging back in a doorway, he watched her turn a corner. Scanning the street and seeing no one, he continued to follow her. Rounding the corner in time to see her walk down the dark stairs to a basement apartment, he moved swiftly and silently. She never saw or heard him; she felt him grab her by the hair and yank her backward. To Stroh's shock, she lunged forward, leaving him with a handful of hair and nothing more. Simultaneously twirling and raising her right arm, she squirted two bursts of pepper spray from the small canister hanging off the key ring in her hand. While only a small amount hit him in the eyes, it provided her enough of an advantage to get past him, up the steps, and out into the street. He stumbled up the steps, blindly running in the opposite direction of her screams. It was almost midnight; he encountered no one during his dash back to the metro station. Ten hours later, he was on a flight back to the U.S. and fifteen hours after that, he was right back in the middle of the Cope's lives.

Upon Stroh's return to Los Angeles, Lydia suggested to her husband that they should hire a hit man to get rid of the monster once and for all. She reasoned that they'd be doing society a favor by killing a killer. Cope didn't disagree, but he needed time to consider all the variables of a murder for hire scheme. Growing marijuana, embezzling, bribery, forgery, cooking the books, and money laundering didn't keep him awake at night, but he was reluctant to add murder to the list. Lydia pressured him to get rid of Stroh, and Stroh pressured him to meet his every need. Stroh demanded sophisticated surveillance equipment, cash, credit cards, false ID, cars, and weapons. With help from his connections, Cope met Stroh's every demand, including providing him a nice place to stay in one of the townhouses Cope normally used for rental income. Needing a break from Stroh and to buy some time to figure out his next move, Cope suggested a cruise of the Mediterranean to his wife. She was happy to go to Europe as long as her husband agreed to hire a hit man upon their return. With his immediate demands met, Stroh hadn't even objected to the Copes leaving.

Sitting on the bed in the townhouse, Craig realizes he made a big mistake by trying to escape his troubles and buy a little time in the Mediterranean. He understands he should have stayed in Los Angeles and kept his enemy close. Thanks to his lapse in judgement he has no idea where Stroh is or what he's planning. Noticing the time on the clock next to the bed, he gets up and hurries out of the room. He's going to be late meeting Lydia at their club. She's going to be angry at him for keeping her waiting, and she's going to be livid when he tells her that he can't find Stroh. If there's a person capable of sending a chill down his spine as much as Phillip Stroh, it's his own wife.

The detectives are on the phone briefing Captain Raydor when they see Craig Cope leave the townhouse. "Stay on him, and keep in touch," Sharon says. She sets the phone down. Her hand immediately goes to the delicate infinity symbol hanging from her necklace. Trying to make some sense out of what she's just been told about Chief Howard, she unconsciously rubs the never ending entwined circles. This is a habit she's developed when she's deep in thought. She doesn't believe for one second her colleague is colluding with Cope but she's thoroughly confused. Her eyes feel gritty from not enough sleep and her ankle is throbbing. Needing a quick break and another dose of caffeine before pursuing answers to the questions swirling in her mind, she glances into the Murder Room hoping to see Andy at his desk. She'd like nothing more than to spend a few minutes drinking coffee and sharing her thoughts with him. He is not at his desk, but she sees a man standing at the Murder Board with his back to her. Getting up, retrieving her crutches, and slowly walking around her desk, she glances out the open office door. She doesn't immediately recognize him in jeans, an untucked shirt, and baseball cap, but when he turns around she realizes it's Chief Fritz Howard.

Approaching her with a look of concern, he asks, "How is your ankle?"

"It's healing. I get the cast off in a couple of weeks. I can't wait. Are you off duty?"

"Yeah," he answers. "I just spent the morning on a sailboat with a former FBI colleague."

Feigning ignorance, she says, "That sounds wonderful."

"No, it wasn't wonderful. It was weird. That's what I need to talk to you about if you have a few minutes."

"Of course, come in."

Walking into her office, he shuts the door behind him. Taking a seat, he removes his cap, and rakes his fingers through his hair. Waiting for her to settle in behind her desk, he finally says, "Jeff Sanders called me out of the blue last night. He invited me to have breakfast and go for a sail this morning. I thought it was kind of strange because we were never really friends, but I was interested in seeing his boat." He looks past her out the window before continuing, "I've always wanted a sailboat. I guess I must have mentioned that when he and I worked together, but I just don't remember …."

Sharon is puzzled by the chief's hesitancy, but she stays quiet allowing him to work out the words in his mind. Several seconds go by before he shifts his gaze and looks her in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not making a lot of sense. This is harder than I thought it would be. I'm not comfortable making accusations with so little to go on," he says. Taking a deep breath, he exhales and continues, "There's something going on with Jeff."

"How so?" Sharon asks.

"I didn't notice right away, but he was pumping me for information all morning."

"What kind of information?"

"He asked me a bunch of questions about my job and my personal life. He even asked me about Brenda."

"That doesn't seem so strange."

"It's not at all like Jeff to ask personal questions." Shrugging his shoulders, he continues, "I just thought he was curious since we hadn't talked in so long. I would've probably let it go, but you won't believe who showed up on the boat just as I was about to leave."

She says the name at the same time he does, "Craig Cope."

Taken aback, he asks, "How did you know?"

"I received word that he and his wife were back in town. I even had an unproductive meeting with them last night before I assigned two detectives to follow them. I just got off the phone with the detectives when you walked in here."

"I wasn't completely sure it was Cope at first. He seemed upset and agitated. He wanted to know where to find Jeff." Standing up abruptly, he shoves his hand in his back pocket. "Jeff had gone into the cabin to get these sailboat brochures for me." Tossing a handful of crumpled paper onto Sharon's desk, he continues, "I didn't really want the brochures, but he insisted. When he came back out, I could tell he was surprised and not happy to see Cope."

Some of the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place for Sharon as she listens to her colleague. She says, "Chief Stewart called me last night. He told me his informant has learned from Mark Evans that Stroh had lots of help from a high-ranking law enforcement official with ties to the Copes." Her eyes never leave his as she watches him absorb what she just said.

"That could explain a lot," he says, "but we still have to have proof."

She nods her head in agreement, and slides a file across the desk to him. "Take a look at that."

Opening the file, he pulls out a photo of what appears to be a dead body. "Who is this?"

"That's Clinton Williams, also known as Phillip Stroh."


	27. Divine Intervention

"This is not Phillip Stroh," Howard says. Studying the autopsy photo, a vertical crease forms between his eyebrows.

"I assure you that's Stroh," Sharon replies. "He changed his appearance drastically, but he didn't alter his fingerprints. That's how Dr. Morales identified his body."

"You're telling me the son of a bitch is actually dead," Howard says.

"That's what I'm telling you. I wanted to tell you before now, but I couldn't. I've kept this information within Major Crimes for a reason."

Howard says, "How long have you been sitting on this?"

"Not that long. It's vital this be kept confidential. There's more going on here than my kidnapping and Stroh's death . . . a lot more. Mark Evans could be the key we need to unlock everything. Chief Stewart is on his way here right now with Evans."

"Damn, it was over twenty years ago, but when I saw Sharon standing in that church parking lot . . . I just can't tell you how relieved I was," says Mark Evans from the back of the prison transport vehicle. "You have to understand, I thought I'd never see her again after I found out she'd finally left her loser husband. No way did Jack Raydor deserve a woman like her."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Chief Stewart resists the strong urge to sigh in frustration. He's sick of the sound of Mark Evans' voice. Evans has been talking almost non-stop since they left for L.A. Stewart could've stayed in Sacramento. It wasn't completely necessary for him to accompany Mark Evans. He had debated taking the trip, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to see Captain Sharon Raydor again. He knew it was probably a stupid decision, but he wanted to hear her voice in person, not just over the phone. He wanted to be in the same room with her. He wanted to know the exact nature of her relationship with her lieutenant. He wanted to figure out if he had even a small chance of becoming more than just a friendly colleague to her. He needed to be in L.A. even if it meant enduring hours in a car with a narcissist in love with the sound of his own voice.

"I was just driving down the street and there she was. I couldn't believe it after all the time I'd spent looking for her. I waited until she walked into church with her kids then I went inside. I didn't want her to see me. I sat a few rows behind them."

Stewart wondered if Evans could possibly be high. The prisoner talked fast, barely breathing between words. The irony of the situation didn't escape the chief's notice. The man who had refused to talk to him since his capture hadn't stopped talking since they got in the car. He could've closed the partition between the front and back seats, but he wanted to hear what Evans had to say, especially about Captain Sharon Raydor.

"It was hard to see her face from where I was sitting, but she looked tired and too thin. Don't get me wrong. She was still beautiful. I just thought she looked fragile, ya know?

Stewart did know. He'd thought she looked fragile when he saw her in the hospital. He certainly wasn't going to admit that to the sociopath sitting behind him. Rubbing the back of his neck again, he continued to stare straight ahead, giving no indication of intently listening to every word out of Evans' mouth.

Not waiting for an answer to his question, Evans says, "I could never figure out how she did it. How did she manage to look so fragile when she was really the exact opposite?" Slumping in the seat, he shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and proclaims, "We could've been great together."

Stewart was starting to wonder if Evans could read his mind. He knew that was impossible, but he'd spent weeks thinking many of the things the criminal was saying out loud. Stewart would never admit, even to himself, how much of his days, and especially his nights, he spent reflecting on the brief time he'd had with Sharon Raydor. He had captured Evans, but it was Sharon who had kept her wits about her and escaped from the man who was the embodiment of evil. Stewart knew he'd never forget the first time he saw her. She emerged from the shadows running with bare feet across the lawn toward him on the property of C and H Winery. Since that night, he'd had vivid dreams about her.

Evans sensed he was getting under the skin of the man responsible for ruining his reunion with the woman he'd been obsessed with for decades. If Stewart hadn't showed up when he did, Evans was sure he could've retrieved Sharon in short order. Instead of sitting in shackles he could be with her in a remote spot far away from annoying, incompetent, stupid cops determined to ruin his carefully crafted plans. He believed he deserved to spend his remaining days on Earth in the company of a woman worthy of his presence. It hadn't concerned him in the least that the woman would not have been with him of her own accord. That fact challenged, excited, and aroused him. In his mind, he was no ordinary man and he deserved to be with an extraordinary woman.

As a former lawyer, Evans is acutely aware of body language. He'd honed his powers of observation to perfection in prison. He'd studied Stewart since they got in the car. A cop he'd never seen before did the driving and Stewart sat in the passenger seat. Evans watched the chief squirm slightly and rub the back of his neck at the mention of Sharon's name. Evans also noted that Stewart had opened the partition between them even wider as soon as he started talking about Sharon Raydor.

Sitting up straighter, Evans says, "Chief, are you Catholic?"

After several seconds of silence, Evans continues, "Come on. You can tell me. I bet you were an altar boy."

Stewart had indeed been an altar boy in the days when only boys could assist the priest. Once again, Stewart wondered if Evans could read his mind. He didn't bother to answer the man's question.

"I'll take that as a no," says Evans. "That's a shame. Mass is special. All that ritual. The kneeling and standing and sitting and singing and praying and Sharon didn't miss a beat. She was even paying attention to the priest. I sure wasn't. I was paying attention to her." Evans watched the chief fidget in the front seat and raise his hand to rub his neck. There it is. He's telling me something significant when he does that, Evans thought, and he's not even aware he's doing it. The officer had been still as a statue until Evans mentioned Sharon's name.

"Every time she'd look down at her missal her hair would fall forward. Oh, you should've seen her hair in those days. It was past the middle of her back."

Stewart remembered her hair spread out on the stark whiteness of the pillow her head rested on in the hospital. She'd been asleep when he'd entered her room. He'd been slightly startled when she opened her eyes and reached for his hand. Her skin was warm against his skin. He remembered how she had softly breathed out another man's name. In the nights that followed, he often fantasized alone in his bed about what it would be like to hear his name escape her lips, to feel his lips on hers, to touch much more supple flesh than just her hand.

"I was so busy watching her, I almost messed up," Evans says. "The man sitting next to me handed me the collection basket. I started to pass it on. I don't know what stopped me. Divine intervention, I guess. I dug some dollars out of my pocket and tossed them in the basket. That's when I saw it. A collection envelope with her name and address printed on it. No need to follow her home. I didn't have to risk losing her in traffic or her spotting me tailing her. It was perfect."

Flipping the blinker up, the officer behind the wheel says, "I've got to stop for gas."

"Hey, how about a bathroom break," Evans says.

Turning to him in the back, Stewart says, "You had a break two hours ago. You aren't getting out of this car again until I put you back behind bars in L.A."

While the cop pumps gas, Evans continues his monologue for his audience of one. "I felt sorry for her when I saw where she'd moved with her kids. It was nothing compared to the house she was forced to sell. That had to have been quite a come down. It wasn't in a great neighborhood. I guess that's probably why she bought a big dog. I'm a cat person myself, but I really liked her dog. It liked me too. I fed it beef jerky every time I squeezed through the doggy door to get in her house. You wouldn't believe how much you get to know a person just by hanging out in their home. I found a letter she'd started to Jack. It almost made me cry. She told him she loved him but couldn't live with him. She urged him to stay in touch with his kids and seek help for his issues. She stressed that he should lean on the Lord. Go to confession. Strengthen his faith. You know, all that religious mumbo jumbo. Well, maybe you don't know, Chief. Anyway, I always wondered if she ever mailed the letter. I bet she didn't even know where to send it. I worked with Jack before he managed to get himself fired. Hell, I probably spent more time with the jackass than she did. Let me tell you, I knew he wasn't willing to do any of the things she wanted him to do. He was too busy drinking and gambling. If I had been a little more patient, I know I could've made her mine.

Stewart opened his mouth to ask Evans if he'd always been delusional at the same time the cop opened the door, slid in the front seat, and started the car. Stewart decided to keep his mouth shut.

Evans wasn't inclined to do the same. "She was drinking a little bit herself. Sometimes, I took a swig or two straight from the bottle I found in the refrigerator. It was good white wine. I think the wine helped her sleep better than the sleeping pills. She had almost a full bottle in her medicine cabinet. I wasn't sleeping worth a damn. I put a few in my pocket. I lost track of time one day. I was looking at the books in her bedroom when I heard her idiot housekeeper walk in the door with the kids. They were whining,"Blanca we want ice cream." I knew there wasn't any ice cream. She told them she'd take them out for ice cream cones after they did their homework. All I had to do was wait in Sharon's closet until they left."

Turning to the prisoner, Chief Stewart says, "You must like hiding in closets."

"I do when it's her closet. What's not to like?"

The cop driving the car can't keep the smirk off his face. He glances in the rear-view mirror to look at the chatty prisoner. He hadn't wanted this assignment, but it was turning out to be not so boring after all. He'd made plans to go out for drinks in a few hours with an old academy classmate of his who works in the traffic department of the LAPD. When they'd planned their evening on the phone, his buddy wanted to know why he would be in the city for the night. He explained he'd be transferring the man who had abducted Captain Sharon Raydor back to L.A. His friend knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't resist describing in detail her lingerie and the pictures of the captain, including an intimate one with her and her lieutenant locked in an embrace. The traffic cop and his partner had found the items inside an open backpack in an abandoned vehicle.

Chief Stewart looks Evans in the eyes, and says, "How did you like Lt. Flynn finding you in her closet?"

"Don't get me started on that douchebag," Evans says. "God, what a loser. I'll never understand why she always falls for losers."

Stewart wanted to know more, but he turned around and stared straight ahead, his mood growing worse by the second. "Step on the gas. I'm ready to get out of this car."


	28. Lean On Me

"You don't have to be in a hurry. You're already too late," Evans says. "On the other hand, you're not a bad looking guy. You might still have a shot."

Stewart is flustered. He tries and fails to close the partition between him and the waste of space sitting in the back.

"Lose that uniform. Buy yourself a decent suit, and some red suspenders," says Evans.

Fumbling with the partition, Stewart can feel his face getting warm. He yanks hard on the handle of the partition.

"Oh yeah, don't forget to get a pinky ring. That's what really does it for her."

Stewart manages to slam the partition shut as Evans bursts out laughing.

The officer behind the wheel says, "What the hell is he talking about?"

Stewart doesn't answer. He just rubs the back of his neck, staring straight ahead. Ten minutes later, the muffled sound of snoring can be heard behind them.

By the time Stewart makes his way into the mostly empty Murder Room in the early evening, his joints are stiff and uncomfortable. His muscles ache slightly from the hours spent sitting in the transport vehicle. Hanging back a bit, he watches Sharon walking with crutches to the edge of a desk. Flynn is sitting on the desk, fiddling with a jar full of coins. He takes the top off the jar, and pours half the money into a large, silver cup that looks like an old trophy.

Stewart hears Sharon say, "You know Provenza hates it when you mess with his things."

"Yeah, that's why I'm doing it," Andy replies.

She chuckles and reaches out to touch him on the shoulder. That's when the chief notices the bright red suspenders on the lieutenant who appears to be more than just the captain's subordinate.

"What am I going to do with you?" she says.

"Oh, I can think of lots of things," he says.

Before she can reply, the crutch slips out from under her right arm and clatters on the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, Andy says, "You don't really need this thing. Just lean on me."

Standing up straight with the crutch in his hand, the smile disappears from his face when he notices the chief. Stewart is focused on the red suspenders. He never even looks at Andy's face. Stewart feels as if Evans is mocking him, and the man isn't even in the room. Approaching the couple, Stewart's mood goes from bad to worse. Taking the crutch from Andy, Sharon pivots to see what he's staring at.

"Oh, hello Chief. Welcome to L.A.," she says. There's a moment of awkwardness when she extends her hand holding the crutch. Stewart doesn't know what he's supposed to do. "Oh, sorry," she says. Handing the crutch back to Andy, she shakes Stewart's hand and says, "How was your trip?"

"It was long, but worth it. I'm glad to be rid of Mark Evans."

Andy hands the crutch back to her before extending his arm to shake Stewart's hand. Looking down, there's more awkwardness when the chief notices Andy's ring. He stares at it for a few seconds before he realizes he needs to shake Andy's hand.

"Gentlemen, we need to talk but not here," she says. "I'm hungry. Let's go to dinner."

Andy's mood plummets when he hears her words. He knew Stewart was on his way with Evans, he didn't know Sharon was going to invite the chief to dine with them. Andy wants Sharon to himself. He doesn't want to share their evening with the man who gave her a huge bouquet of flowers, and who calls her often on the pretense of discussing the case. Andy knows his girlfriend is unaware of his suspicions about Chief Keith Stewart. He doesn't think she'd agree with his assessment of the situation. She is not always fully conscious of her own desirability. Andy thinks that's due to the years she spent married to a man more enamored of the bottle than her, and the years she has worked in an environment that demands she have a tough exterior and even tougher interior. Her seeming obliviousness of her charms is a substantial part of what makes her charming in Andy's opinion. He didn't always find her charming, but that was before he had the privilege of getting to know her.

Stewart works hard to make sure his attention is equally divided between the couple sitting across from him. His long, upsetting day with Mark Evans has him spooked that his thoughts and feelings about the captain are discernible. He doesn't want to appear to be ignoring Andy, but if it were up to him, Andy wouldn't be in the booth or the restaurant or the city or even on the planet with them. If it were up to him, he'd be alone with the intriguing woman sitting across from him.

He wishes he had just ordered room service and watched a movie in his hotel room instead of being the odd man out at dinner. It would have been easier than pretending nonchalance at the sight of the couple seated thigh-to-thigh in the tight space, and obviously enjoying each other in a relaxed, non-office setting. Andy's right arm is draped across the back of the booth with his fingers dangling near Sharon's bare arm. Stewart glances at Andy's ring glinting in the harsh lighting. The sight of it makes him cringe knowing he's inadvertently given Evans information that would be beyond embarrassing for others to know. Of course, he'll deny it if Evans decides to blab, but he's fully aware that as soon as that Pandora's box is opened it'll be impossible to put the information back inside.

Languidly trailing his fingertips across Sharon's skin, Andy studies Stewart. With each deliberate brush of fingers across flesh, Andy detects a range of emotions on the face of the man sitting across from him. Irritation, disappointment, sadness – it's all there. Evans knows he should stop staring at Andy's hand, but he can't. Andy almost feels sympathy for the guy. He's been there. He's experienced all those feelings and more for Sharon.

She irritated him to no end before she ever became his boss. She disappointed him when he wanted to talk about what she needed him for. He still remembers how his pulse raced when she invited him into her office and told him to shut the door. Tired of holding back, he was more than ready to talk about his complex feelings for her. He felt like he'd received a punch to the gut when he realized she only wanted to talk about how to handle Julio's issues. She evokes sadness in him when he thinks about how much time they wasted not being more than just friends; however, his sadness always gives way to profound happiness, gratitude, and wonder at the realization they are finally together. Stewart lifts his eyes to meet Andy's eyes. The two men stare at each other until Sharon innocently interrupts the moment by handing Stewart the bread basket.

Shooting him a grin, she says, "I wish I didn't love bread so much." Her genuine smile prompts Stewart to smile back. He can't help himself. He thinks he has never seen a more beautiful smile or a more beautiful woman.

"I'm hoping Mark Evans is capable of shedding some light on Stroh's deep connections to Craig and Lydia Cope and their retinue," says Sharon.

Spreading butter on the bread in his hand, Stewart says, "I wouldn't hold my breath. My informant told me that Evans isn't reliable. He talks to hear himself talk. I don't believe a lot of what comes out of his mouth and neither should you."

"I know," Sharon says, "but he told me he killed Phillip Stroh with Andy's service weapon, and I believe he did."

Andy says, "Ballistics confirm that fact."

Stewart already knows the answer to the question he's going to ask, but he wants to make Andy squirm. Looking at the man with the lowest rank at the table, he says, "How did he get his hands on your weapon?"

Trying to keep the animosity out of his voice, Andy says, "He took it off me after he tried to run over me."

Steering the conversation back to Stroh, Sharon says, "Evans told me a little about his relationship with Phillip Stroh. He admired him, but he was afraid of him. He said he knew Stroh would eventually try to kill him. He also said Stroh had powerful contacts. He was able to get his hands on basically whatever the two of them needed." Pausing to take a sip from her drink, she continues, "Based on my meeting with the Copes last night, I'd say they have no idea Stroh is dead."

"Their Mercedes was full of fingerprints," Stewart says. "Like I told you on the phone, Captain, not all of the prints have been identified yet. We also confiscated enough evidence at the winery to put them away for intent to distribute. The people on their payroll, including what passed for law enforcement in Liberty, remain in police custody."

"That's a good start, but I have a strong feeling we've only scratched the surface," Sharon says.

In a much posher restaurant several miles away from the trio discussing them, Craig and Lydia Cope order their second round of drinks. "Dammit, I can't believe Stroh has disappeared in our Mercedes," says Lydia. "I knew we shouldn't have left the country. We should've stayed here and dealt with him, and something's wrong at the winery. No one will pick up the phone."

"He'll turn up," Craig says. "He always does."

"Don't I know it. I'm sick of him always turning up. You should have dealt with him years ago like I told you to. The world would owe you a big favor."

"We can fly to the winery tomorrow and check things out," says Cope. "I need to touch base with our people there." Reaching for his wife's hand, he looks at her and smiles the smile that's enabled him to swindle, scam, extort, and deceive so many people. "Please relax. It's going to be okay. I promise, it's all going to be okay."

"It better be. We haven't worked so hard for so long just for that psycho to ruin everything."

"He'll need more of our money sooner rather than later. Believe me, we haven't seen the last of him."

Lydia is perfectly aware of that fact. She has no need to continue talking about Phillip Stroh or to reveal her plan to finally rid them of him as soon as he resurfaces. She knows her husband isn't capable of getting the job done, but she is, when the time is right. Her husband doesn't need to know everything she's capable of or what she's planning. Her cunning, ambition, and ruthlessness combined with her husband's good looks and slick personality has enabled them to climb high up social, political, and economic ladders. She has no intention of allowing a man like Phillip Stroh to upset the perfectly calibrated balance of their lives. She hasn't pushed and prodded and promoted her husband for decades only to allow his protégé to ruin everything they've established. Their daughter is disappointment enough. There will be no further disappointments if she can help it.

Judge Harlan Ferguson and his young wife join the Copes at the same time the server appears with more martinis. The night is young. The ambience is perfect. Tender veal, fresh asparagus, wild rice, and crème brulee is consumed while the Copes talk about their European vacation. Lydia will not allow thoughts of Stroh to ruin her evening. She has no idea the two men sitting by the large mirror near the back of the restaurant are detectives Gray and Walker, and they've been following her husband all day.

Closing the door of Sharon's condo behind them, Andy watches her maneuver into the living room. She kicks off her shoe, sits on the couch, and discards the crutches. He needs to go to his own home and get some rest, but her pull on him is strong. Her hair is tousled. The hem of her dress is hiked up exposing the smooth leg not encased in a cast. Andy sits next to her. She rests her head on his shoulder. "Are you concerned about dealing with Evans tomorrow?"

Turning to look in his eyes, she replies, "No. I'm concerned he's going to be a waste of valuable time. I don't want him quoting The Histories to me or professing his undying devotion. I want him to name names. I want a list of all the people who helped Stroh. I want to know what would motivate them to help such a vile person. I want to put them all behind bars with Evans and the Copes." Placing her hand on Andy's chest, she takes a deep breath and continues, "What I want most is to get all this ugliness behind us and go to Catalina."

"I can't wait," Andy says. He leans down and covers her mouth with his. He can taste the tart wine she had with dinner lingering on her lips. Any thought of going home vanishes as his tongue plunges past the tartness to explore the sweetness of her mouth.

Keith Stewart lets himself into the bland hotel room. Removing his shoes and rumpled uniform, he sets the alarm for six in the morning. He's too exhausted to bother brushing his teeth. Besides, he thinks, it's not like he's going to be kissing anyone. He stretches out under the covers. It feels great to relax, but he realizes he's never been lonelier in his life. Closing his eyes, he imagines Sharon Raydor occupying a portion of the vast amount of available space next to him in the king size bed.


End file.
